


Our Life Is Not a Movie or Maybe

by clio_jlh



Series: Hollywood 'verse [1]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Male Character, Falling In Love, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Humor, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Romance, Show Business, Star Trek Big Bang Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-24
Updated: 2010-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-13 00:05:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 70,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clio_jlh/pseuds/clio_jlh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From Variety, June 2008:<br/>Pavel Chekov ("Charlie X") and Gaila ("Bread and Circuses") have joined the cast of small budget drama "That Which Survives," funded by Fleet's indie arm Academy and supervised by Nyota Uhura.<br/>The debut feature from longtime script doctor Leonard McCoy, former show runner on sitcom "Three to Tango," centers on a college student coping with his father's terminal cancer. Chekov plays the son, Gaila the nurse. The father is yet to be cast.<br/>Also attached are director James T. Kirk and producer Spock, the team behind the blockbuster spy-girl franchise starring Carol Marcus, the latest of which, "A Taste of Armageddon," opened last month.<br/>(A modern-day Hollywood AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Set Up

**Author's Note:**

> So many thanks to ali_wildgoose, who brainstormed the idea with me and was a fantastic beta all around, including providing key technical assistance from her other life as a filmmaker. kitsune13 and lillijulianne were other sets of eyes on the story as a whole, and rawles and kittyjimjams helped with early chapters.
> 
> Thanks to everyone at jim_and_bones for the massive, massive encouragement, especially the word wars and just the general chatter, and reassuring me that yes, people do still read stories with happy endings.

  
The opening 10% of your screenplay must draw the reader, and the audience, into the initial setting of the story, must reveal the everyday life your hero has been living, and must establish identification with your hero by making her sympathetic, threatened, likable, funny and/or powerful.

_May, 2008_

"We are going to be so late," Joanna McCoy said, running out of her room, book bag in hand.

"We're fine," replied her father. "And we wouldn't be anything close to late if you hadn't tried to wear a belt as a skirt."

"Dad! It wasn't _that_ short."

McCoy merely raised an eyebrow. "Got everything? Your history homework? Your lab report? Your story for the paper?"

Joanna checked her bag again. "Yep. You have caffeine? Protein?

He held up the travel mug and the wax paper-wrapped egg and veggie burrito she'd made for him earlier.

"Pants?" she asked.

"It was only that one time," he said, "and I was wearing swim trunks. Let's go."

"Can't we take the freeway today?" Joanna asked as they made their way through the streets of Venice and onto Ocean Avenue. "We're late as it is."

McCoy shook his head. "The freeway is only faster at three a.m., Jo."

Joanna huffed and slouched against the seat, crossing her arms with all the attitude that a fourteen-year-old girl could summon. Unfortunately for her, it was less than half of the attitude of a typical actress, so her father was unmoved. "Probably couldn't go fast anyway," she said. "This car is older than I am."

"It's a _classic_ in perfect working condition," McCoy said of his '74 BMW, "and when you get your license you'll be begging me to let you drive it."

She rolled her eyes. "You're so old-fashioned."

"Excuse me, I have a goddamned iPhone with the internet and the blue ray."

"Blue tooth, Dad. Blu-ray are the next generation of video players. You should really know this; you're in the industry."

"See, look, Ocean is moving just fine," he said, following the traffic through Santa Monica. "We'll be in Brentwood in no time, and you'll be nothing like late."

"Whatever," Joanna said, reaching for the radio.

"Don't. you. dare," McCoy growled, because seriously, the kid was pushing every button this morning. He might have said more, but then the phone rang. The car was old but the aftermarket tech was not so he hit the handsfree button on the steering wheel. "McCoy."

"Hey, it's Christine Chapel."

"Never knew you to be up and at 'em so early," he said. Joanna looked at him, wondering, and he just shrugged.

"Can you come into the office this morning?" she asked. "I don't see anything on your schedule."

"Sure, after I drop Jo off. What's up?"

"I … I think I have an offer on your script."

"My script?" he asked. He couldn't think of what she meant—he hadn't pitched a sitcom after the last one never even made it to pilot, and that was five years ago. "What script?"

"Your movie script, McCoy. _That Which Survives_."

Joanna turned to him. "Dad? I didn't know you wrote a movie script."

"Long time ago," McCoy said. "You were just a baby." He'd forgotten all about that script, which he'd written while he was still show runner on _Three to Tango_. At least, he'd tried to forget it. "So who's biting?" he asked.

"James T. Kirk."

"Oh my god, Dad!" Joanna shouted, grabbing his arm and shaking it in her excitement.

McCoy went blank for a minute because that wasn't a name he was expecting to hear. Kirk directed a big-budget action movie franchise about a female spy named Bibi Besch, the fifth film of which was to open in a few weeks, over Memorial Day weekend. Joanna wasn't much for wallpapering her room with posters but she did have a pin-up of Kirk's star Carol Marcus on her bedroom door. Kirk's films were also some of the few Hollywood action movies he'd never been asked to punch up.

"McCoy?" Chapel asked.

"Oh, sorry," he replied. "Um, yeah, I mean, I'll stop by."

"Great! I know it's a surprise but I think this one is really going to happen," she said, and hung up.

"Oh my god!" Joanna said.

"You said that before, Jo."

"You're gonna take it, right?"

"Sweetheart, it's just a meeting."

"But you work on so many action movies. I know you wrote the best one ever."

McCoy smiled though in the back of his mind he wondered when he'd stop being his daughter's hero. "That's the thing, Jo. It's not an action movie. It's a little indie flick if anything."

"Oh," she said. "What's it about?"

He sighed. "It's about me and your granddad."

Joanna nodded. She hadn't known his father, and McCoy had never told her about how he died, but he supposed that if the movie got made he'd have to. But not now, in a car winding its way up San Vicente.

"Okay," McCoy said as they pulled up to the school. He checked his phone. "I'm seeing you at four, right here."

"Yep," she replied.

"Curry for dinner?"

"Eggplant?"

Damn kid always trying to make him into some kind of vegetarian. "And chicken?"

She rolled her eyes. "Fine." She gathered up her things and kissed him on the cheek. "Good luck, Dad!"

He smiled. "Thanks. Have a good day now."

She got out of the car and ran over to one of her friends and they immediately started giggling. Strange how even living with a teenage girl didn't make them any less mysterious.

* * *

  
Christine Chapel, like most successful people in Hollywood, had certain affectations. One was her office at The Farragut Agency, which was decorated in the manner of an English gentlemen's club with dark brown leather furniture, a Victorian solid oak desk, and bookshelves with beautiful leather-bound copies of the scripts of her clients that had been produced. It was suitably library-like for a writers' agent.

"So tell me," he said once he'd settled into a club chair with a pineapple Jarritos, "how in hell did James T. Kirk come across a script I wrote over ten years ago?"

"You make it sound like you haven't been working on it since then," Chapel replied. "And that I haven't been sending it around."

McCoy shrugged. "So I've revised it here and there," he said. "Still doesn't explain anything."

Chapel curled into the opposite chair. "Jan and I were talking," she said, meaning Janice Rand, her girlfriend and Kirk's agent, "and when your name came up she said she'd never read the script, so I loaned it to her. And Kirk is like a toddler when you leave him alone in a room. He picked it up off her desk and now he wants to make it."

"But why?" McCoy asked. "It's not his sort of thing. Can he even get it produced?"

"Yes, within his deal at Fleet Pictures," Chapel said. "Jan was looking around for a small movie for him anyway; we just didn't think yours was a fit. But apparently Jim does."

"And what Jim Kirk wants … "

Chapel merely shrugged.

"Well," McCoy said, "I suppose a meeting wouldn't hurt anything."

"Great," she said. "Tomorrow?"

" _Tomorrow?_ "

"He wants to move fast," she said. "This isn't widely known but the next Bibi Besch pic is being pushed back so he finds himself with a hole in his schedule this summer." She paused, looking at him. "Don't you growl at me, McCoy. You have to admit this would be a quick one to get into production."

McCoy let his eyes drift back over to the bookshelf, where he was represented only by the script for the _Three to Tango_ movie _Tango at the Wedding_. Script doctoring might be lucrative and get you known and respected by the power players in Hollywood but it didn't exactly rack up the WGA credits. He found himself looking at those shelves with a little more envy.

"Fine," he said. "Breakfast, usual place."

Chapel shook her head. "Why do you like that restaurant so much?" she asked. "I didn't think all that healthy stuff was your kind of thing."

McCoy just raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"Oh by the way," she said, walking over to her desk, "you should know that he's been reading your scripts."

McCoy cocked his head. "What scripts?"

Chapel looked up. "All of them."

"All the movie scripts you mean?" he asked. "They're not really mine, but—"

"Not just those," she replied. "The _Three to Tango_ scripts, too."

"Are you trying to tell me," McCoy said, "that he has the 92 sitcom scripts I was credited for?"

"Actually he had the entire run," she said. "Jan sent him all seven seasons yesterday afternoon."

"Huh," McCoy said. "Well, I hope he's a fast reader."

"He is," she said. "He returned them this morning."

* * *

  
McCoy didn't go home after seeing Chapel; his thoughts were spinning too much to get any writing done. Instead he went down to the beach in Santa Monica and grabbed trunks and a towel out of his car for a swim, his preferred head-clearing method. Then he bought a couple of tacos and ate them sitting on the hood of his car staring out at the ocean. He'd been in Los Angeles for seventeen years now, and he still couldn't get over the sight of nothing but sails until the sky and the ocean met, or how you could almost hear the hiss as the sun set into the water.

Chapel had given him a tote full of Kirk-directed DVDs and a portable player, so he watched _What Are Little Girls Made Of_ , the first Bibi Besch film Kirk directed back in 2000 when he was 25. It was a mid-range film, to be sure—Kirk wasn't _that_ much of a genius to have started with a big budget—but he could see why they'd given him the money after that. All the elements of his later films were there, if in embryonic form: his quirky visual sense with more angles than a bad student film that still somehow worked, his ability to sketch a character in thirty seconds of film, his instinctive and ruthlessly efficient sense of story. His student film wasn't bad either, something about a confidence man named Mudd that showed he certainly could handle a smaller and more direct story, but still didn't give McCoy that much confidence that Kirk would be the right director for a project as emotional and actor-centered as _That Which Survives_. Anyway, it was just a meeting.

He flung his t-shirt back on before going to pick up Joanna, who'd had a newspaper meeting after school. She asked about Kirk, and he let her know about his meeting the next day.

"We have to plan what you're going to wear," she said.

"Why not what I always wear to meetings?" he replied. It had taken McCoy quite a while to adjust to the casual dress of LA after four years of Ole Miss formals and tea parties. His Hollywood meeting uniform consisted of a relatively hip t-shirt, a light jacket, jeans without too many holes, and a pair of Vans; it said "I'm a creative" without implying "who's holding onto his youth in a somewhat pathetic manner."

"James Kirk is so GQ," she said. "His producer Spock wears all these amazing scarves."

"I'm not wearing a scarf to a breakfast meeting in May."

"Of course not," she said. "Your neck is too short."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "This isn't a _date_ , Jo."

"You never know," she said. "I hear he dates guys, too."

McCoy sighed. Ever since her mother remarried Joanna had been looking for someone for her father. When she came to live with him three years ago, McCoy had explained that sometimes he dated men and sometimes women, and Joanna had come down decidedly on the side of his settling down with a man. McCoy wasn't sure what that was about, perhaps some kind of wish to be the only woman in his life, but he generally just let it slide. "I'm not dating my director."

"Well anyway you still want to impress him," she said.

"I'd say he wants to impress _me_ ," McCoy said. "He's the one who wants to make the movie so badly."

Joanna raised an eyebrow at him. Genes were funny things; Joanna got her big brown eyes from her maternal grandmother and her dark hair from his own mother, but her _expressions_ were pure unadulterated McCoy.

"Don't you have homework?" he asked, which they both knew was his go-to last ditch attempt to get Joanna off the given topic.

She shrugged. "I handed in my story and the editor didn't have anything to say about it, so I did most of it while I waited for you. Thanks for reading the story for me."

"Any time," he said. "I'm always glad to look over your writing." He had a sudden flashback of his father saying the same thing to him years ago, about his math homework. Maybe becoming your father was just part of parenthood; he'd certainly seen Jocelyn become his former mother-in-law over the years.

"So we have plenty of time to find you something to wear," Joanna said firmly. "This is Hollywood, Dad. Appearance is important."

"Fine," McCoy replied, because another part of parenthood was knowing when you were beat.

And so after they salted eggplant and browned chicken and dumped in the green thai curry base from Trader Joe's and got the whole thing simmering away in the dutch oven while the rice cooker did its thing, they marched into McCoy's room and Joanna surveyed the offerings. About thirty minutes later, which was less time than McCoy had feared, they had an outfit Joanna approved of and McCoy could actually see himself wearing—some well-worn-in jeans that Joanna liked the fit of but weren't "snug," a vintage Pylon t-shirt (that he'd purchased at a show in Athens in 1983, thank you very much, and not on _eBay_ ) and a brown denim jacket. Joanna also insisted on "doing" McCoy's hair the next morning "because you always make your bangs too heavy, Dad; product is your _friend_." But the stubble he could keep, because it made his eyes "pop."

"So who's the band on the t-shirt?" she asked, once they'd sat down to dinner.

"It's Pylon," he said. "I've told you about them."

"One of those bands," she said, waving her hand vaguely.

"You are not going to college without some goddamned taste in music," he said, scowling.

"I'm scared now," she said, sounding anything but. "Which band?"

"Pylon were a crucial band in the Athens scene of the early 80s," he began.

"Cliffs notes please, not the entire wiki entry."

"Where's your attention span?" he asked.

"I'm saving it for _Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man_ ," she replied.

McCoy made a face. "Your mother _hates_ that book," he said.

"I can see why," she said. "So, Pylon? Athens G-A?"

"Yes, Georgia, not Greece. They heavily influenced R.E.M., and then they broke up and got back together and toured with R.E.M., and then they broke up again. They were the first band I ever saw play live in a club, when I was fourteen. There, that's your short version."

"Thanks."

"And in return I'm putting some on your ipod."

"Will there be a quiz later?" she asked.

"Don't be a smart ass," he replied.

* * *

  
Catch was the restaurant at the Casa Del Mar hotel in Santa Monica. McCoy liked having breakfast meetings there because he knew the staff, the menu was extensive while still accommodating the egg white omelet crowd, and he got a perverse pleasure out of forcing the suits to come west of the 405 that early in the morning.

His routine for these meetings was to get there early—easy when he was dropping Joanna off at school anyway—and hide out in the hotel lounge. Being first at the table was a kind of advantage, in that you could size up the others as they walked in. McCoy let them think they had that advantage, while he'd been watching them since they got out of their cars; they rarely knew what he looked like since he was a lowly writer.

It was sunny, but not too warm, so after checking with the maitre d', he settled into one of the chairs in the lobby that gave him a view of the door and sipped a red grapefruit juice. Kirk was predictably early—by about fifteen minutes—and sauntered in from the valet smiling at all the staff. McCoy was actually glad that Joanna had made such a fuss, as Kirk certainly was well put together in expensive-looking jeans, a crisp white button-down, and a brown cardigan, with a grey newsboy cap atop his head. He didn't notice McCoy as he walked in, but standing at the maitre d' station he turned and—damn it, was the kid actually _checking him out_? He flashed McCoy a smile just before walking into the dining room.

McCoy stood up, not bothering to wait—either the jig was up or it wasn't. He walked right up to the table where Kirk sat checking his blackberry, the _New York Times_ sitting on the table in front of him. "Nice trick, waiting in the lobby," he said, and then stood. "James T. Kirk," he said, extending his hand, and this time he was definitely checking McCoy out. His voice was deeper than McCoy had expected, with just a touch of midwestern twang around the edges.

"Leonard McCoy," he said, and they sat. "How did you know?"

Kirk removed his cap, putting it and the paper on the chair next to him, and ran a hand through his hair. "There are pictures of you all over the internet, like everyone else. You did win a few Emmys, after all."

McCoy shrugged. "Most people don't bother to look," he said.

"I'm not most people," Kirk replied. The waiter came over and McCoy pointed to Kirk. "Coffee, and what are the market vegetables?"

"Zucchini and tomato, sir."

"Tofu scramble and hash browns, no toast, please."

"The usual, sir?" the waiter asked McCoy, who nodded. Tofu, really?

Kirk smiled again, and his eyes were almost distractingly blue. McCoy hoped his own eyes were "popping" or whatever Joanna had said.

"So," McCoy said.

"Look, I've heard you're a straightforward guy so I'm not gonna blow a bunch of smoke up your ass," Kirk said. "It's a fantastic script, the bones are solid." He paused as the coffee arrived. "Thanks. It just needs a little help—not a lot, a little. But you know, collaborative process, blah blah blah."

"Sure, sure," McCoy said, feeling just a little off balance in the absence of the usual fifteen minute intro of bullshit. "What kind of help are you thinking?"

"Well," Kirk said, "I read the sitcom scripts, and man have you got a distinctive voice. I went through those movie scripts and knew exactly what lines you added."

"You're actually not supposed to be able to tell," McCoy said, "if I'm doing my job right."

"Well, like I said, I'm not most people," he said, shrugging. "And I kinda know my way around an action script."

"True," McCoy replied. And how—he and Joanna had watched Kirk's other movies after dinner, and all of them were tight as a drum. "So the script isn't in my voice, is what you're saying?"

"No, it is. But to be honest, you're funny as hell, and this script? Not so much."

"It ain't a comedy, kid," McCoy said.

Kirk gave him a little smile, raising his eyebrows. "I know, but you were trying so damned hard to be serious that no one even cracks a smile. The story is compelling and the characters fantastic but there's no life to it."

"Huh," McCoy said, because he honestly couldn't think of a good reply to that.

"Thing is," Kirk went on, "you're just the person to fix it. I bet that if you looked at this script not as your baby, but like a script doctor, you'd know exactly what to do."

McCoy cocked his head and thought, mostly just to slow the kid down because he'd been talking a mile a minute. "See, that's great and all," he said, drawling just a little more than usual. "Useful notes, but that only shows me you should be producing, not directing."

"Oh, right," he said, smiling again. "I really get this character on a personal level. I know what it's like to lose your father, to have a complicated relationship with a parent. And the father, you can see that he wants to protect his son, but needs him at the same time, and how tough it is on him. And the nurse! She's not just one of those wise caregivers, not by a long shot." His eyes were wide and glowing now, his mouth firm. "The narrative is so elegant and spare. It lets everyone breathe. The actors would be able to take their time with this one. And we'd absolutely have to shoot it on location. It's all about finding the right house and then just holing up in it until we get it right."

McCoy nodded, amazed that Kirk could seamlessly blend sincerity and actual insight with industry bullshit like "getting the character." "And you think you can do it this summer?" he asked.

"With the glut of stuff that was shot before the strike," he said, "there's a lot of good people free right now. We just have to move fast. And my crew is available, of course."

"Funding?"

He waved a hand. "Leave that up to me," he said. "Shouldn't be a problem."

The waiter came then with the tofu scramble and McCoy's asparagus and cheddar omelet. Kirk reached into the pocket of his bag and pulled out a slim plastic case. "Here, this might help you," he said.

"And this is?" McCoy asked.

"It's one of my first student films," he said. "The first one Spock and I worked on together anyway. Not the final project; I know Jan hands that one out. This is an earlier one. Might make you feel more confident about me."

"Okay," McCoy said. "I mean, I'll have to—"

"Think about it, of course," Kirk said, nodding. "I think we could do great things with this script. I think it could be amazing. But you should go with what your gut is telling you."

He was smiling again, that infamous megawatt grin, and McCoy could almost feel the heat it generated on his skin. And he had to hand it to the kid—he certainly had a feel for the script. His advice, however, left something to be desired; McCoy's gut had certainly steered him wrong in the past. "I'll do that," he said.

"Great," Kirk replied. "So, Pylon," he said, gesturing at McCoy's shirt. "R.E.M. did a lot of covers of them, didn't they?"

McCoy raised an eyebrow. Maybe the kid was all right, after all.

* * *

  
McCoy looked down at the family schedule in his phone. Easy to go see his buddy M'Benga as his gym was just down the street, but McCoy doubted the workout his friend would give him would be wise immediately after eating an omelet. Besides, he felt restless and itchy; he didn't want easy. He turned down Santa Monica and headed for Silver Lake; maybe the drive would ease the worst of it before he got to the dance studio.

The former Jocelyn McCoy, mother of Joanna and pain-in-the-ass ex-wife of Leonard, was rehearsing with a male dance partner to some kind of pop song. Or scratch that—she was creating, choreographing; the dance was clearly unfinished, as she was repeating a few patterns in slightly different ways. How a nice girl from Georgia had gone from being head cheerleader at Ole Miss to showing pop starlets how to move their asses in their videos to best effect McCoy wasn't sure, and he'd been there as it happened.

Neither the staff nor Jocelyn took much notice of McCoy as he slipped into the room, though her eyes met his briefly in the mirror. He'd always liked watching her dance, and so wasn't an unknown presence at the studio. Jocelyn had a fantastic body and knew how to move it, how to change it up from sexy to classy and back again. She and the male dancer were weaving in and out of each other's space with some damned complicated footwork; her client would have to be pretty well trained to follow that.

"All right," Jocelyn said, glancing up at the clock. "We'll take this up again tomorrow." She gave the other dancer a hug. "Good luck!" she said as he left.

"Audition?" McCoy asked her.

"Yeah, some soda ad," she said, wiping off her face with a towel. "So if you wanna stay and yammer at me you'll have to be my partner."

"Hey," he said, eyes widening, "I ain't doin' that shit you were just—"

"Calm down, Len. I just need you to lift me."

"Oh," McCoy said. He rubbed the back of his head. "Well, that's fine then."

She shook her head as she walked over to the stereo and changed the music from the pop track to a slower piano song. "So how was the meeting?" she asked.

"How'd you find out about that?" he asked, taking off his jacket.

Jocelyn cocked her head. "I can see your schedule and you know it. Stop being coy."

"I'm not being _coy_ ," he said—he honestly did keep forgetting that Jocelyn bothered to look at his schedule.

She stood next to him. "Lean," she said, and when she hopped up he easily grabbed her with one arm as she lifted both legs into the air, leaning her side into his. "So is Kirk as hot in person?" she asked.

"If you like that sort of thing," McCoy replied, standing up as he set her back down.

"Which you do," she said, rolling her eyes. "You've always been a sucker for blue-eyed blonds."

McCoy harrumphed. "He's not as hot as he thinks he is, at least," he said, trying to maintain _some_ pride.

She turned them at a side angle to the mirror and stood back to him, putting his hands on her hips, then hopped up, locking her legs backwards around his waist. "Did he impress you?" she asked.

He watched her do a head roll. "He's passionate about the script, and he seems to have a good understanding of its strengths." He didn't say, "and weaknesses," though that was also true.

"That's good."

"Yeah," he replied.

"So why are you unsure?" she asked. "Follow my hand," she added, moving her arm in a graceful arc.

"Fuck, I don't know, Joss," he replied.

"Don't sag your shoulders," she said. "God, you've got the most graceful hands, Len."

"What?"

Jocelyn sighed, and leaned back into his chest. "You still can't take a compliment, can you?"

"I—"

"Never mind. Here, shift me this way, and make a quarter turn," she said, and moved so he was holding her by her waist and one outstretched leg. They now faced the mirror. "I'm just saying, you're always surprised that people are paying attention to you."

"I'm not the talent," he said.

"Hmm," she replied, standing again. "Did you come by so I would talk you into this?"

He followed her lead and lifted her onto his shoulder. "Never made a big decision without you, Joss," he replied.

"Leonard McCoy, that isn't even true. You bought that house in Venice."

McCoy closed his eyes for a moment. "You said once that I don't know how to take advantage of opportunities."

Jocelyn slid down onto the floor. "I was angry then," she said.

"Doesn't mean you were wrong," he replied. "Anyway, you were there when I wrote the damn thing."

"What does Christine think?" she asked, leaning them sideways again.

"Christine's an agent. She wants to make a deal."

"Give the woman _some_ credit," Jocelyn said. "She takes good care of you."

"Yeah," he replied.

"Look, does it feel right?" she asked.

He watched in the mirror as she lifted her leg, extending it straight to her perfectly pointed toe. "Yeah," he said, not realizing it until that moment. "Yeah, it does."

"Then do it," she said. "What have you got to lose?"

"Dunno what the shooting schedule is yet; he said he wanted me on set for it—"

"We'll figure it out," she said. "You've certainly worked around my shit any number of times."

"Yeah, well," McCoy said, setting her down.

She turned to him and lay her hands on his chest. "All right, get out of here and call Christine."

He put his hands over hers. "Thanks, Joss."

When McCoy got home he realized there was one more thing he wanted to do, and slipped Kirk's student film into the DVD player. Unlike his final project about con men, _Tomorrow is Yesterday_ was an emotional short film about a teen who chooses not to retaliate against another boy who'd bullied him years before. McCoy could see why Kirk had given him the film, as it showed a sensitivity mostly absent from his other work. Not that his action pictures really called for much of it, but it was still good to know it was there.

He picked up the phone before he could think about it anymore. "Christine, it's McCoy. Let's do it."

He tossed the phone on the couch and headed out to the beach for a swim.


	2. The Set Up

  
Ten percent of the way into your screenplay, your hero must be presented with an opportunity, which will create a new, visible desire, and will start the character on her journey.

Jim Kirk shared an office on the Fleet Pictures lot with his longtime producer, Spock. He mentally called it 'Fleet—it had been Starfleet Pictures back in the day, but Fox had dropped the "20th Century" too. Nothing as disposable as the future of the past.

"Good morning, gentlemen," he said as he walked in. "You are looking at the director of _That Which Survives_."

"That's very good news, sir," said their shared assistant, Jean-Luc, a young man fresh out of film school.

"J.L., I keep telling you, stop calling me 'sir.' You make me feel like Peppermint Patty."

"I trust the meeting with Mr. McCoy went well," Spock said, not even looking up. Spock always looked just a little more formal than everyone else, as if he hadn't quite gotten Manhattan out of his blood, and today was no exception—a sweater over a shirt and tie, and perfectly pressed khakis.

"You bet," Kirk said, dropping into the chair behind his desk and then leaning back to cross his feet on top of it. "If he doesn't say yes, I'll eat my hat."

"And nothing of value would be lost," Spock said.

"Hey!" Kirk said, and chucked the cap at Spock, who caught it one-handed and set it down on the desk, his eyes _still_ on that day's _Hollywood Reporter_ , spread out on the desk in front of him.

"I take it you charmed him," Spock said.

"I did no such thing, actually," Kirk replied. "The rumors were right; he is almost un-charm-able. I went with passion and intelligence instead."

"How on earth will you be able to work with him, Jim, if he is immune to your particular charms?"

" _You're_ immune to my particular charms, and we get along all right."

Spock looked up then, finally. "True," he said. "So you feel that we can collaborate with him? Remember, we have never brought a writer onto our team before."

"Well, it's not like we have much of a choice. We don't have Carol—she can sell any line you put in front of her," Kirk replied. "But I think you'll like him, too. He's very straightforward. Super smart. Quick, well read, funny in this offhand sarcastic way. I mean, of course he's funny, he was a writer on a sitcom, but he's not _on_ , you know? Passionate, but you can see him trying to hide that and I don't blame him, in this town. And most importantly he's sincere, like we are."

Spock glanced at Jean-Luc, then back at Jim. "What does he look like?"

"Well," Kirk said, a little smile on his face, "he's got that disheveled writer thing going on. Kinda floppy dark hair, stubble, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Though apparently he's a single dad so maybe it's that. Anyway, he's tall, broad-shouldered, surprisingly buff for a writer actually. Pretty handsome—hazel eyes that you can _feel_ when he looks at you. Talks with his hands a lot, big sweeping gestures. Growly voice with a hint of a southern accent. Why do you ask?"

"I was merely wondering if he will be your romantic conquest for this film," Spock replied.

"Hey now," Kirk said, "that's entrapment. You asked me what he looked like."

"And you replied as if you were describing the latest teen idol," Spock replied.

Kirk waved his hand. "No, that would be that Chekov kid from _Charlie X_ …." He stared into space for a moment.

Spock and Jean-Luc looked at each other; they'd seen Kirk's flashes of inspiration often enough to know better than to interrupt one.

"J.L., make a note in the casting for _That Which Survives_ to look at Chekov for the lead."

"Doing that right now, Mr. Kirk," Jean-Luc said, walking back out to his desk.

"So where was I?" Kirk asked. "Oh, right—I said that I wasn't going to fuck anyone during this film and I meant it, Spock."

"You did say something about energy and football players that I admit I did not entirely follow," Spock replied."

"I want to keep my mind on the game, Spock. Laser focus!"

"Being distracted has never been your problem, Jim."

"Well, still. It's a different kind of movie."

"True. So you do honestly think that McCoy will agree to our making the picture?" Spock asked.

"Spock, the only other time I've had a meeting that felt as good as that one was the very first meeting for _What Are Little Girls Made Of_."

"I see," Spock said. "Well, that is very encouraging, Jim." He looked at his watch. "While we are waiting for this inevitable 'yes,' we have a meeting regarding our current movie to attend."

"A premiere is just a party," Kirk said. "Why can't promotions plan these things by themselves?" He hated promotional meetings, mostly because he had no actual control over any of the materials. They always rejected his trailers; he thought theirs gave some of the best parts away, even if they were out of context. And Carol would show up and moan about how she looked on the posters.

"I think they want to give you some choices about film clips before your appearance on Leno next week," Jean-Luc said.

"Ooh, you think that McCoy would write me some jokes for that, Spock?" Kirk asked.

"I feel that we should confirm we are making a film with him before asking him," Spock replied.

"Well, _sure_ ," Kirk said, taking his hat back as they left their office.

* * *

  
After the promo meeting was lunch with the distribution people. Kirk knew that distribution was crucial— _A Taste of Armageddon_ was opening Memorial Day weekend, opposite _Return of the Archons_ , the sequel to a highly successful animated film, and he was nervous. His movies with Carol had been tent poles for Fleet for some years now, so he was used to the pressure. But as opening day neared and his ability to make changes waned, he worried more about letting down Chris Pike, since he'd risen to head of the studio partially on his championing of Kirk. And given that Kirk didn't have a new movie in preproduction, _That Which Survives_ was the only thing providing the necessary distraction from the possibility of failure.

"Sighing at the phone won't make it ring," Spock said. He was flipping through the _Vanity Fair_ with Carol on the cover that had hit newsstands the week before.

And then the phone rang, of course. "Says you," Kirk said, listening to Jean-Luc answer the line in the other room.

"Yes, Ms. Rand, he's been awaiting your call," he said. "I'll put you through."

Kirk put her on speaker. "Jan!" he shouted. "Don't give me any bad news!"

"Of course McCoy said yes," Rand said.

Kirk howled. "Have I told you lately that I love you, Jan?" he asked.

"Yes, actually," she replied.

"Have I told you how fantastic it is that you finally moved in with Christine Chapel?"

"Yes," she said, "when you asked if you could watch us have sex."

"Oh, yeah," he said. "I'd say I was sorry but I still think it's hot. Not in some creepy lesbians only fuck for my entertainment way, but you know, aesthetically."

"I know," she said. "That's why I didn't kick you off my client list."

"And because I make you money."

"That too. Speaking of which, where is Pike on this?"

"He has seen the script," Spock said, "but we were waiting on Mr. McCoy."

"We have an appointment with him today," Kirk said. Spock raised an eyebrow, and Kirk put a finger to his lips.

"Good, because we're going to have to move fast," Rand replied.

"Don't I know it," Kirk said. "We'll call you as soon as we know. Thanks again, Jan."

After he hung up, Spock said, "Jim? We do not have any kind of appointment."

"Details, details," Kirk said, hitting speed dial.

A warm female voice answered. "Christopher Pike's office."

"Hello, Moneypenny," Kirk said.

"Are you making trouble?" she asked.

"Not today," Kirk replied. "He available?"

"He has a meeting at three."

"We'll be in and out, I promise."

"Well … if you come right now, I can sneak you in."

"Thanks, Beverly," Kirk said. "You're the best." He hung up and stood to leave.

Jean-Luc peeked in. "I can put those calls through for you, you know," he said.

Kirk shook his head as they walked out of the office. "First, you have more important things to do than making phone calls for me. Second, you are _actually friends_ with her. You don't need an excuse to talk to her."

Jean-Luc's eyes widened. "That wasn't—"

"Don't worry about it," Kirk said, clapping him on the shoulder.

As they walked across the lot, Spock asked, "What was that, Jim?"

"C'mon, Spock," he replied. "Even you have to have noticed that he has a crush on the Crusher."

Spock nodded. "I see. Is she not a widow?"

"Yeah. Iraq, two years ago."

"Well," Spock said, "that seems to be a perfectly respectable mourning period. I do not understand why Jean-Luc hesitates."

"Me neither, man," Kirk replied.

Pike's bungalow was just down the walk, so they were there in less than five minutes. Beverly Crusher smiled indulgently at them as they came in, then tapped at Pike's slightly open door. "Have a minute?" she asked.

"Of course he does," Kirk said, walking past her.

Christopher Pike didn't even look up at them. "Don't you have anything better to do than bother me?" he asked.

He didn't tell them to leave, so Kirk sat down, Spock next to him. "Actually, no," Kirk said.

"That's why we keep you working," Pike said.

"Your policy is not unwise," Spock replied.

"So I take it you're in here grinning like a lunatic because you got McCoy to sign on?" Pike asked.

"Yep!" Kirk replied.

"And you want me to green light the thing?"

"I assure you, I have gone through the script and we can make this film at the budget discussed previously," Spock said.

"And you can keep him to that budget?" Pike asked.

"Christopher, you talk as though I am incapable of saying no to him."

"You both talk as though I'm not in the room," Kirk mumbled.

"Zip it, Kirk," Pike said. "It's good for you. And Spock, I know you're perfectly able to rein him in; I've seen you do it. But I've also seen you agree with him."

"For the good of the film, yes."

"And then you rarely account for your overage elsewhere."

"We have never been more than 1.257% over budget," Spock replied.

"Well, that's fine when we're talking movies that gross five hundred mil worldwide. But with little budgets like this you're gonna have to get pennywise, and fast."

"I assure you that we comprehend the difference."

Pike shook his head. "Never mind that I don't think you could have _found_ a more downer script. Jesus, Kirk, you want anyone outside the art house crowd to watch this thing? Dunno if you noticed the name when you drove on the lot this morning, but this ain't Lion's Gate."

"Hey," Kirk said, "my deal says—"

"Your deal says that we have to make it," Pike said. "It doesn't say how much we have to spend on it. I know we've been throwing around forty, but with this script, I'm not sure I can give you that."

"Why not?" Jim asked.

"The hypothetical script was going to be a little more audience friendly than the one you actually picked."

"But you won't have to pay for a Bibi Besch film this year, so there's money for it!" Kirk protested.

"And we won't get the big money for it either," Pike said. "You two geniuses ever heard of a P&L?"

"I believe it is within the corporate interest to keep Jim happy," Spock said, "which included this part of our deal."

Pike sighed. "You know I'll go to bat for you with the money guys," he said. "Just be forewarned. The movie will be made, but don't count on the forty."

Kirk opened his mouth, but Spock put a hand on his arm, so he closed it. "When will you know?" Spock asked.

"Early next week. Tuesday night at the latest." Pike looked down at something on his desk. "You guys are all in for points on the back end anyway, right?"

"Yeah," Kirk replied.

"So we'll get McCoy in the same way. I'm sure he'll agree, so that shouldn't hold up the deal."

"You're sure?" Kirk asked. "You know him?"

Pike kept his head down, looking up at Jim through his eyebrows. "Everyone knows McCoy. How the hell do you think he gets all that script doctoring work? Just 'cause you didn't have to use him …"

"Right, of course," Kirk said, feeling a little unsettled. He'd liked thinking of McCoy as his own discovery, at least as far as anyone could really be "discovered" these days.

"I'm sure you've already started to bring him into your little crew," Pike said.

"Yep," Kirk said. "He's my next phone call."

"Well, go make it then," Pike said.

Kirk thanked Beverly again on his way out. As soon as they got back to the office he dialed McCoy on his Blackberry.

"McCoy," he answered, clearly on speaker.

"I've got a green light with _That Which Survives_ written all over it," Kirk said.

"Well!" McCoy replied. "That's pretty sweet."

"Yeah, it is," Kirk said. "Won't get all the deets 'til next week, y'know, the uze. But we're good to move forward."

"Great!" McCoy said. "So, meetings are next I reckon."

"Yeah, we have a pretty compressed schedule," Kirk said. "We'll probably start in first thing next week."

"Sounds good to me," McCoy replied.

Kirk tapped the desk. "Say, what are you doing tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow? Well, I have my daughter, but other than that, nothing."

"Right, your daughter. She lives with you?" Kirk asked.

"Yeah. Sorry if I sound distracted, I'm waiting to pick her up at school. Joanna's fourteen."

"Even better," he said. "The premiere is tomorrow night—our movie, _Taste of Armageddon_?"

"Yeah, I think I've heard of it," McCoy replied, and Kirk could almost hear his eyes rolling.

"So you should come. And bring your daughter. We'll put you in with us. You know, team building."

"I'm not much for premieres, I admit," McCoy said, "but Jo is a big fan. I think I'll take you up on that."

"Great! Jean-Luc will email you with the time and location and get you on the lists and stuff. I'll make sure your seats in the theater are next to Carol. She likes to watch the movie right in the thick of the crowd."

"And where will you be?" McCoy asked.

"Oh, I'll be standing in the back, nervously pacing," Kirk admitted. "I mean, the screenings went well and all but, you know."

"Yeah, I've been there," McCoy said, chuckling. "Well—oh, can you hang on a sec?" he asked.

"Sure," Kirk said, hearing the sound of kids in the background, and a car door opening and closing.

"Hi Dad," said a girl's voice.

"Hi Jo-Jo," McCoy replied, his voice suddenly sounding very warm, no trace of sarcasm. "Before you say anything else, I'm on the phone right now with Jim Kirk, who has invited us to his big premiere tomorrow night."

Kirk heard a gasp. "Really?"

"So what do you say?" McCoy asked.

"Thanks Mr. Kirk!" she said.

Kirk had to laugh. "You're welcome, Joanna. I'm looking forward to meeting you."

"Thanks Jim. See you tomorrow night," McCoy said.

"You bet," Jim said. He hung up, and then noticed that both Spock and Jean-Luc were staring at him. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing," Spock said.

"I'll add their names to the list," Jean-Luc said. "All-access."

Jim looked at Spock. "Man, I can't work now," he said. "Let's just get some sushi and go to your place and play Lego Star Wars."

Spock cocked his head. "Very well," he said, "but I am Obi-Wan."

* * *

  
Kirk stayed over at Spock's house in Santa Monica that night, which wasn't an infrequent occurrence. They'd moved into a tiny place in West LA together after they got out of USC, and even with success and houses they ended up bunking with each other pretty regularly. It kept alive the rumor that they were fucking, but neither of them could be bothered to care. Or at least, Kirk didn't care; Spock never said anything about it, but Spock never let other people's attitudes affect his decisions anyway.

Kirk made them veggie omelets for breakfast, then drove back to his own house to chill out for a while before heading into the premiere. But after a few hours home was boring, and he was restless, so he ended up calling Spock anyway.

"I hate premiere days," Kirk said, slouching into the couch. His laptop was open next to him, and _The Apartment_ was playing on the big screen on the wall opposite.

"Why not work on the script?" Spock said.

"Nah. Need McCoy for that."

"You are serious about collaborating on this project?" Spock asked

"I said I was," Kirk replied.

"I am surprised," Spock said.

"Well, it's better than the scripts we're usually rewriting. Why work with the writer when the original script is just the bones anyway?"

"These are better bones," Spock said.

"Much better bones," Kirk agreed. "Even have some meat on them." He drank some coffee and fidgeted. "Spock, you think they're going to ask us about the delay on the next movie?"

"Perhaps," he replied. "What is the agreed-upon language?"

"We've been working so hard, we all need a break, recharge the creative batteries, blah blah blah," Kirk said.

"As opposed to, 'our mercurial leading lady has decided it is in her best interests at this time to have a child,'" Spock said.

Kirk chuckled. "Why would we ever answer a journalist's question with the truth?" he asked.

"We have an email," Spock said. "Jean-Luc forwarded the final _Entertainment Weekly_ cover for tomorrow."

Kirk pulled it up on his laptop. The cover was a medium shot of Carol, in a scanty blue dress, holding a revolver. Across the bottom it read: "Carol no. 5—Can Marcus and Kirk keep their spy-girl franchise fresh?" He glanced at Jean-Luc's summary of the article: "Positive on _Armageddon_ as summer popcorn fare. Wondering if you and Carol can do anything else. Speculation on 'reclusive one-named producer Spock.' Nothing surprising."

"Carol will be pleased with that photograph," Spock said.

"And I guess we'll find out if I can do anything else soon enough," Kirk replied.

"You have already made films in other genres," Spock pointed out.

"True, but that was before Carol," Kirk said. Then he heard the gate buzz. "Oh, that's the stylist," he said. "I'll see you in a bit?"

"Of course," Spock replied, and hung up.

Ninety minutes later Kirk had been primped and coiffed to within an inch of his life even though his outfit had been decided upon a few days earlier: a dark blue Prada suit with an open white shirt. Now he was being driven to Santa Monica to pick up Spock. It was a tradition, being each other's dates for premieres, and now they were a bit superstitious about it. Kirk wasn't sure what they'd do when they had actual significant others.

Spock hopped into the car, impeccable as always. Kirk always felt a little disheveled in comparison, a bit wrinkled while Spock maintained the crease in his trousers. Maybe it was just that he was better at sitting still than Kirk. He didn't even use a stylist, though that was more because Carol had given up on getting him to use one than anything else.

"Jim, it occurred to me today, have you seen Miri since your screening party for the rough cut?" Miri was the young actress who'd played Carol's antagonist in _Armageddon_.

Kirk closed his eyes and threw his head back against the seat, because that was two fucking months ago. "Shit, no," Kirk said. "I meant to call her, but then I got busy with the effects editing and Carol just threw everything into chaos and so, no."

"Speaking of Carol," Spock began.

"I haven't seen her either," Kirk said. "Meetings and stuff, sure, but not—"

"I was merely wondering, as at the party you—" 

"I know," Kirk said. "Not my best moment. Or hers either. And I was so pissed at Miri, I haven't seen her."

"Well," Spock said.

Kirk glared at him. "You know I hate it when you do that."

"Jim, you know what I am going to say."

"Then _say it_!"

Spock cocked his head, which Kirk also hated, or at least hated when he was in this mood and knew he was going to get a lecture on his personal life from Spock, who had no personal life to speak of as far as Kirk knew, and Kirk would _know_ , because that was the kind of friends they were. Even if Spock didn't tell him, he'd know.

Kirk waited, and tried not to tense up before the blow came.

"It is true that perhaps sleeping with Carol on the night of your screening party, immediately after you broke up with Miri, was not the wisest of decisions. Nor was failing to make some sort of overture to Miri before the premiere, so that your first meeting with her since she left your home in hysterics was not on a red carpet in front of the international press. Still, this is not what I wanted to discuss with you."

Kirk had to laugh then, because really, this was insane. Only Spock could lay out his most recent romantic disaster so dispassionately and then dismiss it entirely as a topic of conversation. "So what did you want to say?"

"I was merely wondering, given that Carol made her announcement of her intention to have a child two weeks after that encounter, if you suspected they are related."

Kirk's head jerked. "You mean, you think the kid is mine? Because wouldn't she have said, 'I'm pregnant' rather than 'I wanna get pregnant'?"

"No, I agree. That is not what I was thinking. Rather, did anything happen between the two of you that night that might send her to that decision? You have also been somewhat more serious since that evening."

"Oh," Kirk said. "Well, the funny thing was, Carol wasn't there in the morning. And you know me; I'm a breakfast guy."

"Indeed," Spock said.

"So that was weird, and I was feeling kinda weird. I mean, I'm 33, and that's probably too damn old to be banging 20-year-old actresses like Miri even if this _is_ Hollywood and I _am_ a director. I don't wanna be that guy, you know? I mean, 25-year-olds, that's another story—they're women." He flashed a grin at Spock, who didn't respond, so he sobered and kept talking. "Anyway, after I woke up and found Carol gone I swam in the pool while the housekeepers worked, and then I called Winona."

Spock showed about as much surprise as Kirk had ever seen on his face. He knew well that Kirk and his mother weren't close. "To what purpose?" he asked.

"I dunno. Just wanted to hear her voice. The accent maybe? I guess I needed some grounding." Kirk played with his tie. "Maybe Carol did, too. Maybe that's what she wants the baby for, to feel a little more normal. Things have gotten pretty high-flying around here lately."

"True," Spock said, looking out of the car window. "I believe we have arrived."

Kirk nodded and put his sunglasses on. "Show time," he said, emerging from the car to the glare of TV lights and flashbulbs.

* * *

  
Once inside the lobby Kirk glad-handed around a bit. He didn't see Miri, but he did spot McCoy standing in one corner with a teenage girl, talking to Chris Pike. Pike always set himself up in a corner, because with the wheelchair it was easier, but he was powerful enough that everyone came to him anyway. McCoy, Kirk noted, cleaned up pretty well, his suit jacket hanging perfectly off those broad shoulders.

"Hey there!" he said, grinning and shaking McCoy's hand. "Glad you could make it!"

"Glad to come. This here's my girl Jo. Joanna, this is Jim Kirk."

Joanna McCoy had a serious little face like her dad's, but with big brown eyes. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kirk," she said. "Thank you for inviting us."

"You're welcome, as long as you call me Jim," he said. "How's it going, Chief?"

"Chief?" McCoy asked.

Pike rolled his eyes. "Kirk likes to think his life is some 70s cop show."

" _Ironside_? Really?" McCoy asked.

"Why not?" Kirk replied.

"So where's your twin?" Pike asked.

"He's around someplace," Kirk said, looking around.

"Is that him over there with Carol Marcus?" Joanna asked.

"Oh, yeah, it is," Kirk said. He turned to her. "You recognized him?"

"I read the trades," she said with a shrug.

"Huh," Kirk said.

Carol was walking over to them purposefully, as she did pretty much everything. She was well turned out as usual in a turquoise sheath that set off her dark blonde hair and deep blue eyes. "Jimmy, Chris, we need to talk," she said, then looked up at McCoy. "I'm sorry—" she began, then stopped, her eyes narrowing. "Leonard McCoy?"

McCoy grinned. "I had a bet with myself over whether you'd remember," he said.

She walked around Kirk to give McCoy two cheek kisses in the patented Hollywood manner that kept everyone's makeup on their own faces and not on other people's collars. "And what did you win?"

"Haven't decided. Maybe a post-movie hot fudge sundae with the kid."

Carol gasped and looked at Joanna. "Well, if she isn't the spitting image. Hello, I'm Carol."

Joanna shook her hand, but didn't seem quite capable of speech until her father nudged her. "Sorry, hi, I'm Joanna."

"Jimmy, tell me these are the folks you wanted me to sit with tonight."

"These are they," Kirk said, "but how do you know each other?"

"Oh," Carol said, waving her hand, "I did a guest spot on _Three to Tango_ as one of Zach's disastrous dates. You know, like every other young actress in Hollywood in the late 90s."

"You were better than most of 'em," McCoy said.

"I'll accept that compliment because I remember how bad at bullshitting you are," Carol said.

"Carol, you have something to say?" Pike asked. "Don't want the natives getting restless."

"Yes, there's a little room over here," she said, taking Joanna's arm and leading the way. "Now, Joanna, I know we're going to be friends, so you need to promise me that what gets said in this room goes no further. Not to your best friend, not anybody."

"I won't tell, Carol," Joanna said, her eyes wide.

"Great," Carol replied, and held the door open for Pike. Once they were all inside, she shut the door behind them and looked up, smiling. "Well, so," she said, and one hand drifted to rest on her lower abdomen.

"You've lost weight?" Spock asked.

"No," Kirk said, blinking. "She's pregnant."

Carol started laughing. "I'm only a little over a month along, but I wanted you to be the first to know! I can't believe it's happened so fast—"

"I can," Kirk said. "Once you set your mind to something, it tends to happen pretty quickly. Congratulations."

"Thanks," she said.

"So that's why there isn't going to be a new Bibi Besch movie next year," McCoy said.

"Yes, but how did you know?" Carol asked.

"He wrote that script I emailed you about the other day," Kirk said. "Chris gave us the green light yesterday."

"Well, there you go," Carol said. "I'm not the only one who gets what she wants."

"Far from it," Pike said. "You sure you know what you're doing?" he asked.

She raised an eyebrow. "When haven't I, Chris?"

"Point," Pike replied, sighing. "Well, congrats from me too."

Spock walked over to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Mazel Tov, Carol," he said, and then to the surprise of everyone, pulled her into a hug.

"Oh my!" she said. "Thank you, Spock!"

Kirk felt a little unsettled. Sure, he'd known that the next movie wouldn't be with Carol—he'd pursued McCoy's script, hadn't he, and there certainly wasn't a role for her in that. But he hadn't realized until this moment that he hadn't taken Carol's announcement particularly seriously in terms of her pregnancy—only in terms of her taking some time off. He looked around the room and when he met McCoy's glance he quickly put on a smile. Which was silly—he didn't know why he cared what McCoy thought of his admittedly strange relationship with Carol Marcus.

"All right, let's get this picture playing," Pike said.

"And that's why we call you Chief," Kirk said, opening the door for him. "Because you're always barking out orders."

Pike peered up at him. "One of these days, Kirk, I'm not gonna be here to keep you from doing something stupid, and then where will you be?"

"Bereft," Kirk replied, grinning, and Pike just shook his head as he left the room.

* * *

  
Kirk spent the screening just as he'd told McCoy he would—nervously pacing at the back of the theater. Spock was with him, though he stood still in the exact center, watching the audience. Premiere audiences were easy, and there was plenty of applause graciously received by Carol as she stood to leave. Kirk waited for McCoy, but didn't see him in the throng headed to the party.

"Where's McCoy?" Kirk asked.

"Oh, he was headed to the side exit," Carol said. "But there's your little friend."

Kirk turned and sure enough, Miri was advancing on him, though she didn't look like she was still angry, thank goodness. Probably, as with most actresses, making her look good up on the screen atoned for any sins he may have committed. "There you are, Jimmy," she said.

Carol left him to his fate, which Kirk thought was damn unfair. "Hey Miri," he said.

She linked her arm in his. "Now are you going to make it up to me by escorting me to this party?" she asked.

"Um, you bet," he said. "I just have to find someone first."

"Uh-uh," she said, tightening her grip. "I"m not letting you out of my sight again."

"Fine," Kirk said, "then come with me." He took her hand and pulled her along against the tide of well-wishers, saying "See you at the party!" as he cut through the crowd and hustled to the side entrance of the theater that led to the back parking lot.

Outside he spotted McCoy and his daughter sauntering to his car. "Hey!" he shouted. He left Miri waiting at the door as he trotted over to them.

McCoy turned to him. "Oh hey, Jim," he said. "Great movie. I'm sure it'll open big." He pointed his clicker at an old green BMW.

"Thanks," Kirk said. "What did you think, Jo? I hear you're a fan."

"Best one yet!" she said. "Well, not better than the first one, but nothing's better than the first one of anything, right? So better than the rest of them. Not that those were bad—they were great! But this one, definitely the best. Or second-best, after the first one."

Kirk grinned. "Thanks. I hope folks agree with you." He looked at McCoy. "Not going to the party?"

"Nah, it's a school night," he said. "Gotta get the kid home. She'll have plenty of time for Hollywood parties when she's eighteen and I can't force her to stay home anymore."

"Dad!" she said. "Jim, can't you change his mind?" she asked.

Kirk struggled not to smile. "Even if I didn't agree with your dad—which I do—I wouldn't contradict him." He leaned in a little. "But between you and me, Carol's probably going to have a lot of nights at home in the near future. We'll have a dinner to make up for it."

Joanna smiled. "Really? Thanks, Jim."

"That's enough charm for one night," McCoy said to her, though he was smiling. "Get in the car."

"So, Monday, um, meeting in my office? How about a working lunch?"

McCoy nodded. "Send me an email so I can put it in the ol' phone?"

"Sure," Kirk said.

"Jimmy!" Miri called out.

"Looks like you got someone waiting for ya," McCoy said. "Wasn't she in the movie we just saw?"

Joanna looked toward the theater. "That's Miri. You know her, Dad, she was on that Disney show I used to watch, about the cheerleader who's also a sorceress?"

"Right, I remember now," he said. He raised his eyebrows at Jim, and his eyes were twinkling.

Kirk scowled and crossed his arms. "Yeah, well …"

"I'd say have a good night," McCoy said, "but I'm pretty sure you will. All right, kiddo, we're off to Milk."

"Good choice," Kirk said.

"Best hot fudge sundaes in the city," McCoy replied, getting into the car. "See you Monday, Jim."

"You bet," Kirk said, heading back over to the theater door because he wasn't actually lame enough to stand there and watch them drive away. Besides, Miri was hot (if a little possessive) and the party was bound to be brilliant with everyone falling all over themselves to congratulate him. Definitely better than some hot fudge sundae.


	3. The New Situation

  
For the next 15% of the story, your hero will react to the new situation that resulted from the opportunity. She gets acclimated to the new surroundings, tries to figure out what's going on, or formulates a specific plan for accomplishing her overall goal.

Monday mornings were McCoy's least favorite part of the week. He couldn't just lollygag around as he did on the weekend, because in the evening he'd have Joanna in the house and he liked having his work done so he could spend time with her. But he didn't have her there to force him out of bed and hand him a breakfast burrito and coffee, either. So he waited out rush hour traffic sipping a yogurt smoothie and listening to NPR tell him in dulcet tones how the world had gone further to shit in the previous twenty-four hours. Then he went to meet up with his buddy Geoffrey M'Benga at The Vanguard, the gym he owned in Santa Monica.

"Looks like you've recovered from Saturday night," M'Benga said, grinning.

McCoy shrugged. "We weren't that bad," he replied. They'd gone out tomcatting in West Hollywood, as they often did of a Saturday night when M'Benga wasn't dating anyone (and even sometimes when he was) but this particular Saturday was a bit more raucous as they were celebrating McCoy's deal with Fleet Pictures.

"Sure," he said, walking over to the empty middle of the room. "Okay, let's get you stretched out."

They went through the usual warm-up routine, and then M'Benga set him up on one of the weight machines. "I know you swim about every day but man, you gotta vary your style," he said. "Get some backstroke in there."

"Not really strong enough to backstroke in the ocean," he said, breathing through the reps.

"Then find a pool," he said. "Your back's gonna be tight as a drum. Didn't that guy you left the bar with Saturday night with work it out at all?"

McCoy grunted, deciding not to dignify the comment with an answer.

They were silent for a while, other than M'Benga counting and guiding McCoy through the reps for a few more muscle groups. It wasn't until he was working his quads that M'Benga said, "So, your first big meeting at Fleet is today."

"Yep."

"You know, if you were anyone else I'd warn you about that Jim Kirk," M'Benga said thoughtfully.

"Anyone else?" McCoy asked.

"I'm not worried about you," M'Benga said. "Bet you didn't even bring that guy back to your house Saturday night, much less take him to breakfast."

"My daughter lives in that house," McCoy growled. "I'm not gonna bring a _trick_ home. We went to his place."

"She's not there on the weekends, McCoy," he replied. "Clean the sheets and she'd never know."

" _I'd_ know. I worked too hard just to be able to see her again, and now that she's living with me, I don't want to fuck it up again. Gotta be a father first."

M'Benga shrugged. "You might wanna start dating sometime. After all, Joss remarried."

"Plenty of time for that when Jo's in college. I can wait three more years."

"I suppose," M'Benga replied. "I'd just feel better if you saw people on the weekend other than me, your poker buddies, and your one-night stands."

"Christine and Janice have had me over to their new place for dinner a couple of times," McCoy said.

M'Benga shook his head. "Let's hit the showers."

"Let's?" McCoy asked. "You making bad porn on the side or something?"

"No, though that's not a bad idea actually. I just wanted to admire my work."

" _Your_ work? Which one of us is sweaty here?"

"My direction, then," he said as they walked down the hall. "C'mon, you're like a walking ad for the gym. If I can do this for a lazy thirty-something writer imagine what I can do for someone else!"

"Well, I'm glad I can _help_ ," McCoy replied, rolling his eyes.

"Don't mention it," M'Benga said, slapping him on the shoulder.

* * *

  
McCoy steeled himself as he sat at the light for the turn into the Fleet lot; he hadn't been there since his last unsuccessful sitcom pitch back in '03. But what did he have to be nervous about? His script had been green lit, and even if the movie was a disaster it was better than nothing.

Of course Jim Kirk had a bungalow, though at least it was one of the smaller ones. Three vehicles were parked in front: a beat up Camry with a USC sticker, an immaculate blue Prius, and a vintage Triumph motorcycle. McCoy walked in to see a young man sitting at the desk in the outer office in casual clothes and a trilby hat. He looked up and his smile was warm and broad, full of eager youth like most assistants. "Mr. McCoy?" he asked in a round, plummy English accent. "We're expecting you. I'm Jean-Luc."

McCoy shook his hand. "McCoy is fine, no need for the mister," he replied.

"Hey, the bones are here!" shouted Kirk through his open office door. "C'mon in, man."

Jean-Luc led McCoy into the inner office, which was a little smaller than McCoy had expected—two desks at the back, side by side and facing forward, five or so guest chairs scattered around a round table, and a video set up in the corner. Kirk's desk was surprisingly clear of clutter; McCoy would have pegged him for the creative-mess type. That Spock's desk was neat as a pin, however, was entirely expected. Even during the three-minute conversation they'd had at the premiere, Spock had struck McCoy as having a truly impressive stick up his ass.

Kirk was walking toward him, hand extended. "Good to see you. You said sushi was okay so we just ordered a bunch of rolls from the commissary." He indicated a platter in the middle of the table, with some assorted beverages.

"Yeah, that's fine," McCoy said. Kirk and Spock joined him at the table and the three men began to dig into the sushi platter.

Kirk turned to Jean-Luc. "Aren't you joining us?"

Jean-Luc shook his head. "I ran into Beverly and we're going to grab something since she's free. Pike's having a lunch meeting with the money men."

Kirk raised his eyebrows. "Think we'll get our answer today?" he asked.

"Sounds like it," Jean-Luc said, nodding.

"Good," Kirk said, but his mouth was set in a firm line. "Thanks, J.L." 

"J.L.?" McCoy asked. He turned to the young man. "That's his name for you?"

Jean-Luc smiled. "With Jim Kirk and nicknames resistance is futile, I'm afraid," he said. "So if there's nothing else?"

Kirk waved his hand at Jean-Luc. "Go, go," he said. "Have fun with Beverly."

"So what's this about calling me 'the bones'?" McCoy asked, making scare quotes with his fingers.

"Well, you know, you're the bones," Kirk said. "Of the project, I mean. The script, of the movie, right?"

"Jim is fond of using sobriquets as a means of team-building among his crew," Spock said. "A _nom du cinema_ as it were. He believes it builds morale."

McCoy cocked his head and bit his tongue; it wouldn't do to be too sarcastic too early on, but clearly Spock wasn't a writer since he used twenty words when five would do, and fifty-cent words at that. "And what is your nickname?" he asked.

"Why, Spock," he replied, as if talking to a toddler.

"Of course," McCoy said, a bit lamely. He turned to Kirk. "Do _you_ have a nickname?"

"Not really," he said quickly, which McCoy took to mean that he did, but wasn't going to reveal it quite yet.

The conversation moved on to more general topics after that, mostly industry hubbub that Spock was surprisingly up on. McCoy would never have pegged the seemingly sober man for a gossip, but then he was a Hollywood producer and it was always best to be in the know.

Kirk's phone rang, and he reached over to put it on speaker. "Kirk here."

"Spock with you?" asked a voice McCoy recognized, but couldn't quite place.

"Yep, and Leonard McCoy."

"Bring them down to my office in about ten. I've got some news for you and someone I want you to meet."

"You got it, Chief," Kirk said, hanging up, and McCoy realized it was Pike, ordering them down to his office. "All right, that's seven minutes to finish eating."

"Seven minutes and twenty-seven seconds," Spock replied. "That is, if you do not get distracted as we walk there."

"Me, distracted?" Kirk asked, grinning. "Never."

When they arrived at Pike's office his admin was away but his door was open and he waved the three men in. "Good to see you again, McCoy," he said. "Close the door behind you, won't you?"

"Yes, sir," McCoy replied, and as he did he noticed a slim girl with a serious face sitting toward the back of the room. She had the perfectly straight back and shoulders of a dancer, but only studio-types wore suits like hers. He nodded to her, and she to him.

"So what's the number?" Kirk asked, slouching into one of the easy chairs near Pike's desk.

"Fifteen," Pike said.

Kirk sat up at that. "Fifteen? Are you serious?"

Pike sighed. "I told you last week to expect a lower number. You can't tell me you look at that script and see fifty, sixty million dollars worth of business." He turned to McCoy. "No offense."

McCoy shrugged. "None taken. It's a small movie."

"Exactly," Pike said. "Someone with some sense, good."

"How am I going to find a cast—" Kirk began.

"Oh don't give me that," Pike said. "We all know that there are plenty of name actors in this town who would jump at the chance to grab some cred by being attached to this project. And you can talk just about anybody into just about anything, Jim Kirk, so I'm not worried about you."

"I just hope some of them can _act_ ," Kirk replied.

"Speaking of your persuasive abilities," Pike continued, "and our previous conversation about Spock's intermittent ability to keep you in line, there's someone I want you to meet." He looked past them to the girl in the chair. "Nyota? Why don't you come sit up here with us."

McCoy stood and pulled out a chair for her, and she nodded her thanks.

"This is Nyota Uhura, one of our young executives," Pike said. "She'll be your Fleet liaison for this project."

"What?" Kirk asked. "But I always work directly with you."

"And that has been a delight, believe me," Pike replied dryly. "But _That Which Survives_ isn't a two-hundred-million-dollar summer blockbuster. My doctor is already worried about my blood pressure, which I'm certain will skyrocket if I have to fight you over every dime that you try to inch over the budget. Nyota's been working on _Bread and Circuses_ since it started, so you can't doubt her understanding of and commitment to character-driven drama." _Bread and Circuses_ was a high-profile, high-prestige drama that had run on pay cable for three seasons so far, earning both favorable buzz and a shelf of awards.

"We certainly cannot," Spock replied. He turned to Uhura. "Welcome to the team," he said.

McCoy could have sworn he heard Kirk whisper "suck up" under his breath.

"Thank you," she said with a little smile. "I look forward to working with you all."

"And don't think you can go over Nyota's head to me, Kirk," Pike warned. "I'll back her up all the way."

"Whatever you say, Chief," Kirk said, grinning.

"All right. Run along and _play nice_ ," Pike said, dismissing them with a wave.

Just outside the door, Jean-Luc was perched atop the admin's desk; behind it sat a woman McCoy assumed was the aforementioned "Beverly." "Well?" Jean-Luc asked.

Kirk shook his head. "Fifteen."

Jean-Luc grimaced.

"Round up the usual suspects, J.L.," said Kirk as he walked out of the bungalow. "See if everyone can make a meeting tomorrow morning. We're gonna have to take apart Spock's budget at forty and rebuild it from the ground up."

"Like taking apart a script?" Jean-Luc asked.

"Yep, only this time, thanks to Bones, we won't have to do that." He grinned at McCoy, who, like Spock and Uhura, was walking along behind him. "But yeah, the room, the supplies, the food, the whole nine yards."

"I'll get right on it," Jean-Luc said, and trotted on ahead of them.

Kirk stopped walking, and turned to Uhura. "Now, Nyota, is that right?"

She crossed her arms. "Ms. Uhura."

"Oh," Kirk said, smirking, "so we're doing that whole Miss-Jackson-if-you're-nasty thing? Because I admit I'm getting a Rhythm Nation vibe off that suit." He paused, but she said nothing. "Anyway, Ms. Uhura, since my number one priority is not pissing off Pike, you don't have to worry about my going over your head. He said don't, that means don't."

"Good."

"So can we at least drop the 'mister' and 'miss'? How about I call you Uhura, and you call me Kirk?"

"I can do that," she replied. "Kirk."

"Great," Kirk said, and they continued walking back to the bungalow.

McCoy glanced at Spock. "Something tells me she won't be getting a _nom du cinema_."

"Perhaps not," Spock said, nodding. "However, I have yet to see a person who was not eventually won over by Jim's intelligence and ability, if not his charm. Certainly Uhura seems quite intelligent herself. I will have to ask Jean-Luc to acquire episodes of her program for me."

Back in the office, Kirk was all brisk efficiency. "I assume you've read the script, Uhura?" he asked as he sat down at his desk.

"Of course," she replied. "I also have Spock's budget."

"Then you're all set for tomorrow." He glanced up at Jean-Luc, who had stuck his head into the room. "Yeah?"

"I was just making sure—I'm not calling Carol about this meeting, am I?"

"No," Kirk said. "Huh, that's gonna be weird. Who's gonna bring the donuts?"

"Donuts?" McCoy asked.

"Carol Marcus has a weakness for donuts," Spock replied, "so much so that they are banned from the craft services table when she is on set. Generally she will bring a dozen donuts to our meetings, and take one bite from each of the donuts in an attempt to satisfy her craving without also causing her to panic about possible weight gain."

"And then she gives you half-eaten donuts?" McCoy asked.

"They're dainty little bites, Bones," Kirk said, holding up his thumb and forefinger. "Carol's big mouth is only figurative."

"'Well, I'm the new guy," McCoy said, "so I reckon I'll bring 'em. Without the bites, though."

"I could bring fruit," Uhura said.

Spock looked up. "Thank you, Ms. Uhura."

"You're welcome," she replied. "Well I should get back to my office, take care of some other things." She stood, and as McCoy stood with her she held out her hand to him. "McCoy, it's a pleasure to meet you. I was a teenager in Washington Heights when _Three to Tango_ premiered and it meant a lot to see someone like me on TV."

McCoy smiled. "I bet you were a dancer too, weren't you? A ballerina?"

"How could you tell?" she asked.

"Nothing like ballet for getting people to sit up straight," he replied. "All the credit for the character of Zoe goes to Krish Puri, but I'm sure he would have been tickled to hear that."

"Washington Heights?" Kirk asked. "I had you pegged for a suburban girl. You know, with the Harvard degree and all."

Uhura looked at Kirk and pursed her lips. "Most people do," she replied, and walked out of the room.

"Damn," Kirk said.

"Indeed," Spock replied.

McCoy resisted the urge to laugh; it was pretty clear that Kirk wasn't used to his charm not working. He was about to take his own leave when he noticed a familiar book on Kirk's desk. " _The Naked Time_?" he said, sitting back down. "That's almost as beat up as my copy,"

"Yeah?" Kirk said, picking up the paperback that contained the shooting script and production notes for the small character-driven romance that launched the indie movement back in the late 80s. He flipped through the pages, and McCoy could see that they were covered with notes. "Jonathan Archer's pretty much my favorite director. He's so fucking versatile. I'd love to have a career like his. Though I'm doing it backwards, I guess—big budget to indie instead of indie to big budget."

"When I was first writing scripts I took that movie apart and put it back together," McCoy said. "It's rock solid."

Kirk chuckled. "I keep this at home, but is it clichéd that I got it back out after I read your script?"

"No," McCoy replied, smiling. "Not clichéd at all."

* * *

  
McCoy should have known that Kirk's meetings wouldn't be like anyone else's. For one thing, he didn't run them exactly, but rather threw various questions out to the room and then watched as his crew discussed them. At the moment cinematographer Hikaru Sulu and production designer Montgomery Scott (who insisted on going by "Scotty") were having a very detailed technical conversation on the pros and cons of digital video. At least, it didn't sound like an argument, though with Scotty's penchant for shouting, which made his brogue even more pronounced, it was hard to tell. Spock listened, head cocked, occasionally asking questions to keep the discussion from flying off the rails. Uhura's note-taking had slowed, and McCoy wondered if she was as lost as he was. The technical details of a television show didn't tend to change much from one week to the next even on a high-end drama like _Bread & Circuses_, never mind a traditional three-camera sitcom like _Three to Tango_.

Kirk, on the other hand, didn't seem to be paying attention at all, but was instead making his way through a Sunday _New York Times_ crossword puzzle McCoy recognized as being from about three weeks ago. McCoy had expected him to attack the pastries but he refrained, instead taking an apple, a very large bowl of Uhura's fruit salad, and nibbling on some cornmeal thing he'd brought. McCoy's attention had been captured by Spock's incredibly precise method of eating a jelly donut: he tore the pastry in neat halves from the hole where the jelly had been inserted, then dipped small bits of donut into the two jelly craters. McCoy was idly wondering exactly what kind of childhood trauma could have produced both the desire for a jelly donut and such an insanely anal method of consuming them while listening to Spock drone on about the need for economy.

"Gentlemen," he was saying, "we simply cannot spend four hundred dollars per spool on film with a fifteen million dollar budget. That is why I suggest digital video."

"No. If we want it to look as it should it must be film," Scotty said, "or we might as well be making a TV show." He turned to Uhura and McCoy. "No offense."

Kirk looked up suddenly. "What about sixteen millimeter?" he asked. "We can get Ektachrome 100D color reversal for forty bucks a spool." He turned to Sulu. "Ever shot on that before? I picked up a couple of Arriflex 16SR2s after I got out of film school, been shooting some stuff on them here and there."

McCoy looked at Uhura, sitting opposite him, who seemed equally surprised that Kirk had even been paying attention, much less formulating a way out of their impasse.

Sulu, however, didn't so much as blink. "Yeah, I have an Arriflex 16SR at home myself and actually, I figured out how to get a nice warm vintage look from Kodak Plus-x reversal, and that's even cheaper."

Kirk smiled. "That's why we call you the pilot. Scotty, can you work with that?"

"'Course I can," he replied, sounding a bit insulted to have been asked.

"Sixteen millimeter it is, then," Kirk said, nodding, and just like that the decision was made. "What's next, locations?"

"Scouts have come back with several," Scotty replied. "Headed to Georgia next week to take a closer look."

"Excellent," Spock replied. "The sooner we secure a location, the sooner we can work with the state regarding economic incentives."

Sulu looked down at Spock's preliminary budget. "Say, Cap, who's cutting this one?" he asked.

"Oh, me," Kirk replied "No reason to bring in the team, since there aren't any effects. Can't afford them, anyway." He looked down at the very rough agenda Jean-Luc had written up. "Casting?"

"I have some suggestions from the studio for the nurse and the father," Jean-Luc said, "but I think you'll agree that none of them are quite right." He handed around copies of a list of names.

McCoy glanced at the sheet and sighed. It wasn't that there were no names—they couldn't afford them anyway—but that he wasn't sure the actors on the list were really up for the challenge.

"No, you're right," Kirk said, looking over the list.

"Kirk, if I might make a suggestion?" Uhura asked.

"Of course," he replied. "You don't need to ask."

Uhura nodded. "What about Gaila?" she asked. "I believe you know her quite well."

"I do," he replied, smiling a little.

"Could be a good change for her," Uhura continued. "And I happen to know that she's free."

"You would know," Kirk said, nodding, as Gaila was currently starring in _Bread & Circuses_. "That's a great suggestion, Uhura, thank you. Jean-Luc, let's get her a script. I'll put a note on it."

"Will do," Jean-Luc said. "We've sent the script to Pavel Chekov as well, and we're waiting to hear back from his people."

"That kid from the Disney show?" McCoy asked. " _Charlie X_?"

"Yeah," Kirk said. "Why?"

"I dunno," McCoy said, searching for a reason why it didn't feel right. "Don't those Disney kids have to sign morals clauses not to show their bellybuttons or something?"

Kirk grinned. "He's not Annette Funicello, Bones," he said. "I don't know if you've noticed, but those former-Disney kids have been making a lot of trouble the last few years."

"I guess," McCoy replied. "But doesn't he seem kinda _young_?"

"He'll turn eighteen a week before shooting begins," Jean-Luc said.

Sulu caught Scott's eye, and they both snickered.

"Gentlemen?" Spock asked. "Is there something humorous about child labor laws that I am unaware of?"

The two looked at each other again, then Sulu said, "Good news for the Cap. I think they call it barely legal?" He winked.

"C'mon, guys," Kirk said, laughing nervously. "You make it sound like I'm out trolling the high schools." He glanced at McCoy, then quickly looked away.

"Naw," Scotty said, "but there was Miri."

"Yeah, speaking of trouble-making Disney kids," Sulu added.

"In hindsight, Miri was a mistake," Kirk said.

Uhura looked at McCoy and raised her eyebrows. McCoy had noticed Kirk's discomfort with Miri the night of the premiere, so he wasn't as surprised at Kirk's admission.

"Actually," Spock said, "Jim has assured me that there will be no such assignation during the course of this production."

"Well," Sulu said. "That's that, then."

"So," Kirk said, "if we're done discussing my love life—and really, guys, _thanks_ for stepping up in Carol's absence—" this earned him renewed snickers from Sulu and Scotty—"then I think we're done here."

After some further handshakes, Scotty and Sulu left to work on their assigned tasks. Uhura and Spock were comparing notes, no doubt in order to tweak the budget, and Jean-Luc began to tidy the room.

"They call you 'Cap'?" McCoy asked. "Is that for Cap Garland?"

"No, but that's kinda cool, actually," Kirk replied. "Hear that, Spock? I think that makes you Almanzo. Gotta get you a team of horses so you can find your Laura."

Spock just stared blankly, but Uhura said, "I hate to ruin this heroic picture, but Cap Garland died in a boiler explosion when he was twenty-six."

"Yikes," Kirk replied.

* * *

  
Kirk mostly left McCoy alone the rest of the week, which was just as well as he'd wanted to finish up his previous projects anyway. The most important of those was for the actor whose commissions paid the mortgage. A bankable movie star known for his sarcastic quips between action sequences, he'd met McCoy when he did a guest spot on _Three to Tango_ , and was the first to extend a hand when McCoy started looking for script doctoring work. Out of loyalty at least, McCoy was determined to finish his work for the action star before getting too far into production for _That Which Survives_.

He was in the homestretch Thursday when Kirk sent him a text.

>   
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  fanTAStic convo w/Chekov. having lunch next week, maybe a reading!
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  A reading for whose benefit, since you're so gung-ho?
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  you of course. wanna make you comf. w/him.
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  Me, the lowly writer? Nah, there's someone else.
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  well, Fleet, but b/c of you, so may as well be you.
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  Maybe so
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  trust me! say, busy Saturday? or is that a dad day?
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  Jo's with her mom on weekends. Why?
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  have someone I want you to meet. pick you up around 3?
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  sure

  
McCoy gave his address, and Kirk replied:

>   
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  it'll be great. fun, laughs, good time
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  looking forward to it, big spender
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  better work on your frug
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  hey, I'm not the rich man here
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  and I'm not for hire?
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  fine, Charity, you want me to get dinner?
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  nah, it'll be provided. I take care of my people, Bones
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  duly noted.

  
That was all—just as well as McCoy needed to leave to pick up Joanna. He glanced in the mirror to make sure his hair wasn't doing something odd—there had been _incidents_ in the past and he had been _sternly warned_ by Joanna, who could look unsettlingly like McCoy's own mother when she was displeased—and noticed that he was smiling. Not that it was that unusual; Joanna had been making him smile since she was born.

* * *

  
McCoy went to dinner Friday night with some writer pals who'd been calling him since the news of the deal had hit _Variety_. The boys got him plenty of drinks, pumping him for info on the infamous Kirk, but McCoy didn't have much dirt that they didn't. After all, he'd only actually been in the same room with the guy three times, four if you counted the premiere. Still, he didn't tell them about the _noms du cinema_ , or that he was seeing Kirk the next day. Neither quite felt like gossip to be dined out on.

* * *

  
After that late night, McCoy decided to give himself the morning off. Well, mostly; he did manage to fix the drip in the bathroom sink. But after that, and some warmed up stir-fry leftover from Thursday night, he settled out on the front porch with a bloody mary and some Fitzgerald.

A little before three, McCoy spotted Kirk on the Triumph motorcycle he'd seen at Fleet. Kirk parked a little beyond the house, then bounded up the front steps, helmets in hand. " _Flappers and Philosophers_?" he asked, turning his head to read the title. "That has 'Bernice Bobs Her Hair,' right?"

"Yep," McCoy replied, getting up and gesturing for Kirk to follow him into the house. "Did you read it in high school?" he asked.

"Yeah, like everyone else," Kirk replied, "though the story about the spoiled girl and the guy who pretends to be a pirate is my favorite." Kirk picked up the book where McCoy had left it on the coffee table. "Yeah, 'The Offshore Pirate.' Always thought it'd make a good rom-com, if you could get rid of the weird racism."

McCoy checked the lock on the back door, then sat own on the couch to put on socks and shoes. "That's why most people haven't read that one. But where did you come across it?"

"Oh, college. Took a seminar in Fitzgerald."

"Thought you went to film school."

"I did, but Winona—my mother—thought I should have a regular B.A., so I got one in English."

"At the same time?" McCoy asked, looking up sharply.

"Kind of," Kirk replied. "What do you think?"

"Of what?"

"Would it make a good movie?"

"Oh." McCoy thought for a moment as he finished tying his shoe. "Yeah, it could. You'd have to expand the bit about the gigolo boyfriend and do something about the band, but yeah."

"Great. We'll make it next. I mean, if they can make something out of 'Benjamin Button'—that isn't even a very good story."

McCoy shook his head. "Let's get this movie off the ground first, okay?"

Kirk smiled. "Gotta stay one step ahead, Bones," he replied, looking around the room. "Cozy."

"We like it," McCoy said as he slipped on his jacket.

Kirk looked down the hall. "Huh, she is a fan," he said. "Or at least I assume that poster of Carol is on her bedroom door, not yours."

"No, that's Jo's." He grabbed his keys and wallet. "Shall we?"

"Oh, yeah," Kirk said, following him out and handing him one of the helmets.

"Where are we headed?" McCoy asked, getting on the bike.

"Relax and leave that up to me," he replied. "Fun, laughs, good time, remember?"

Kirk took them up the coast, seemingly in no particular hurry. He'd certainly picked a good day for it, with the sun shining brightly on the water, so McCoy just sat back and enjoyed the scenery, the rumble of the bike between his legs and yes, the feel of Kirk's body against his. McCoy figured why not enjoy it; as M'Benga had said, he wasn't in much danger. They zoomed along all the way up to Point Mugu before turning around and meandering back to Malibu. There they pulled over at one of the roadside fish places, grabbed a table on the deck and ordered beer and a bucket of shrimp.

"So, Jo's with her mother this weekend?" Kirk asked.

"Every weekend," McCoy replied. "She's with me during the week, has been since junior high. Easier for me to take her to school. Why?"

"Well, I was thinking of getting out of town next week, you and I, and working on that script."

McCoy shrugged. "I can work something out with Jocelyn. Especially if we wrap it around the weekend. I've certainly helped her out when work took her out of town."

"What does she do?" Kirk asked.

"Choreographer. Mostly those pop girls, videos and tours and such."

"You two sound pretty amicable."

McCoy peeled a shrimp. "Divorce was eight years ago now," he said, "and we have a daughter. It wasn't amicable at the time, believe me. We share custody now, and at least she married the guy." He bit into the shrimp, but Kirk wasn't saying anything, just staring. "What?"

"Eight years ago—isn't that when _Three to Tango_ ended?"

McCoy winced, inwardly he hoped. Damn truth kept spilling out. "Yeah—job, house, wife, daughter, gone within about three months. Never rains but it pours, right? _But_ eventually I got it all back, or close enough, anyway." He looked around the room, desperate for a new topic, and as Kirk reached forward for another shrimp he saw the glint of metal on his wrist. "Is that a medic-alert?"

Kirk looked at his wrist, then flashed a shy smile McCoy hadn't seen yet. "Yeah. Penicillin. Kinda dorky, but what are you gonna do. Also got hay fever pretty bad as a kid, but it's better now." He cocked his head. "Hope that's not because of the smog."

"So what you're saying is, despite the Triumph and the designer t-shirts and the string of partners, you're just as much of a geek as the rest of us."

"Bones, I went to film school. Of _course_ I'm a geek."

McCoy chuckled along with Kirk. "Is that the secret to your success with the ladies?" he asked.

"I like to think it's my charm," Kirk replied.

"I hadn't noticed any," McCoy said, taking a slug of beer.

"Really?" Kirk said. "Because it works on guys, too."

"'So I've heard," McCoy replied.

Kirk snickered. "Yeah, West Hollywood is full of gossips, isn't it? I keep hearing about some hunky writer with an irritable disposition, runs around with an actor friend, never sees the same guy twice."

"Never run into anyone like that," McCoy said, his eyes twinkling. "But who goes to those places for anything permanent?"

"True," Kirk said. "And there's a time and a place for everything, including the temporary and fleeting."

"I agree," McCoy said, and their eyes locked.

And then Kirk's phone rang, ending the moment. "Hey! Ready for us? … Yeah. We're at the bar having shrimp and beer. … One beer! You sound like my nanny. … Great. We'll leave now." He hung up and looked at McCoy. "Good to go?" he asked, reaching for his wallet.

"Sure, but where are we headed?" McCoy asked.

Kirk threw some bills on the table. "Oh, sorry—Gaila is making dinner for us tonight at her place up in Topanga. She loved the script and wanted to meet you."

"And you were going to tell me this when?" McCoy asked.

Kirk grinned. "At some point after we left your house and before we got to hers. Trust in the process, Bones."

Gaila lived in a small arts and crafts-style house nestled back from the road. She met them at the door in a floor-length diaphanous purple caftan, and given that her day job required her to wear a copper bikini, McCoy couldn't blame her for covering up in her down time. She had a headful of red curls and a grin that rivaled Kirk's.

"Jimmy!" she exclaimed, giving him a big hug. "So _great_ to see you."

"You too," he replied. "This is Leonard McCoy. Bones, this is Gaila, who needs no last name."

"Very pleased to meet you," McCoy said, extending his hand.

"Oh please," Gaila replied, and hugged him. "C'mon in, dinner's on the patio." She took them through a living room stuffed with curios from around the globe and out to a stone patio next to a modest pool. A table was set for three, a bowl covered with plastic wrap in the middle. "I'll go get the tagine; it's just heating up."

"Need a hand?" McCoy asked.

"You could open the wine," she answered as she went into the kitchen.

McCoy poured them each a glass of the Portuguese rosé that had been chilling in a bucket next to the table. Gaila emerged from the kitchen carrying a platter covered with a conical lid. "Here you go," she said, lifting the lid to reveal a dark, fragrant stew studded with olives and onions. "Tofu tagine!"

"Don't fret, Bones. Gaila is an amazing cook," Kirk said, taking the plastic wrap off the other bowl. "Ooh, couscous!"

" _Quinoa_ ," Gaila replied. "You think I'd serve you pasta?"

"Why not?" McCoy asked.

"Because Jimmy here shouldn't be eating gluten," she said, giving him a glare.

"C'mon, the intolerance is pretty mild," Kirk replied.

" _Even more reason_ ," Gaila said, "since I know you cheat."

"Not that often!" Kirk protested. "I had a corn fritter instead of a donut! Ask Bones!"

"And you had a beer today," she said. "You know you'll feel better. Honestly, if I didn't take care of you I don't know who would."

"Take care of you?" McCoy asked.

"She found me this food delivery service," he said. "They just put it in my fridge, a week of food."

"Lactose and gluten free," Gaila said.

Kirk rolled his eyes, but he still looked a bit chastened. "Anyway it's good and it's easy," he said. "I _can_ have cheese you know."

Gaila frowned. "Not from me," she said.

McCoy looked at them both, and then burst into laughter.

"What?" Kirk asked.

"She's _perfect_ ," McCoy said.

"Oh," Kirk said, blinking. He turned to Gaila, who was smiling. "I know you can play the part. If I didn't—"

"You wouldn't have sent me Leonard's script," she said. "I know. It's about time I show that I can do something other than scheme while scantily clad."

"Great," Kirk said, pulling his blackberry out of his pocket.

"What are you doing?" McCoy asked.

"Letting Spock and Uhura know," Kirk replied.

"Now?" McCoy asked. "In the middle of dinner?"

"We haven't started yet," Kirk said. "Besides, I'm sure Uhura will be glad to know her suggestion panned out."

"How are you two getting along?" Gaila asked.

Kirk shrugged. "You pals with her?"

"Not exactly," Gaila replied. "I like her, but she's hard to get close to."

"You can say that again," he said, putting the phone away.

"I'm sure at least half of that is your reputation, Jimmy," Gaila replied. "You can't blame her for not wanting to get ensnared."

"Jim's promised his crew he isn't going to do that on this movie," McCoy said.

Gaila raised her eyebrows. "What will the gossip sites do? Defamer has had a betting pool for each of your movies."

"I don't know, go back to trying to out Clooney?" Kirk was scowling.

McCoy, hoping to change the subject, raised his glass. "I'd say this occasion calls for a toast. Thank you, Gaila. Look forward to working with you."

Gaila beamed. "Thank you, Leonard. Such a gentleman, isn't he?"

Kirk locked eyes with McCoy. "That he is."

After that they tucked into the tagine—which was so good that McCoy got the recipe from Gaila to surprise Joanna—and talked of mutual friends and acquaintances. Easy to do, as Hollywood was almost as much of a small town as the one McCoy had grown up in.

"How long have you two known each other?" McCoy asked.

"Eight years I think?" Kirk said.

"Almost," Gaila replied. "Filming started on _Kobyashi Maru_ in July 2000."

"Huh," McCoy said. "I remember _you_ in that, Gaila—"

"Kept woman with a heart of gold," Gaila said mockingly. "The schemers came later."

"—but I didn't realize _you_ were involved, Jim."

"AD," he said. "So you've seen it?"

"It's infamous. Everyone in Hollywood has seen it," McCoy replied.

"Just no one else," Kirk said.

"I heard it was a rough shoot," McCoy said. "That Nero got way out of control."

"Oh, you have to tell him the story, Jimmy," Gaila said, nudging him.

Kirk grinned. "Okay. _Kobyashi Maru_ was my first job out of film school. As first assistant director I also got to direct some second unit stuff, a pretty simple stunt that the stunt coordinator was in charge of anyway. But as I planned out the scene I realized that what Nero wanted me to do and what the stunt coordinator had planned wouldn't work together. And Nero—let's just say that it wasn't a collaborative environment on set."

Gaila shuddered. "It was my first film, too, and if I hadn't had my fellow actors telling me that it wasn't always like that I would have gone back to the theater!"

McCoy shrugged. "Nero gets results. Buys him a lot of leeway."

"So I put out the word, talked to a couple of his old ADs," Kirk continued. "Turns out, it was a set up. The studio didn't want him shooting second unit, and his producers were always fighting his tendency to get lost in the details. But he hated the idea of someone else doing any of it, so he'd set second unit up to fail, then reshoot it himself, and come out looking like a problem solver who'd given a young kid a chance."

"Nice," McCoy said.

"Isn't it just?" Gaila replied.

"What did you do?" McCoy asked.

"I went to the stunt coordinator and talked to him about what he knew and what I knew about what Nero actually needed, and we reworked the entire thing, start to finish."

McCoy raised his eyebrows.

"See, that's _exactly_ how Spock reacted," Kirk said.

"That's not true," Gaila said. "He wouldn't talk to you for the entire two weeks before the second unit shoot."

"Okay, so he raised his eyebrows at me, and then we had a huge fight where he suggested that perhaps I needed to learn how to accept failure with grace and I said I'd already had enough failure in my life, thanks, and that I didn't believe in no-win scenarios _especially_ when they're bullshit setups because in the real world there's always a way and you just have to _find_ it. That's your job, as the director. You keep trying—you don't just _stop_ , you know?" He looked up at McCoy.

McCoy nodded slowly. "Yeah," he replied. They held each other's eyes for a long moment before Kirk looked away.

"And it was after that fight, that Spock wouldn't talk to me and I spent more time in Gaila's hotel room than in ours."

"Spock worked on that film too?" McCoy asked.

"Yeah, assistant producer," Kirk said. "And then the second unit stuff came back and Nero was _all set_ to bury me, only he couldn't without looking like an idiot because the footage was good. Meanwhile _Kobyashi Maru_ had gone so far over budget that he couldn't reshoot anyway." Kirk grinned.

"That stunt coordinator didn't get hell for it either?"

"Who, Cupcake? Naw," Kirk said. "He's been the stunt coordinator for all the Bibi Besch films, actually."

McCoy sat back in his chair. "Well, you just make friends wherever you go, don't you?"

Kirk shrugged. "Most of them don't like me when they meet me. Cupcake didn't. Carol didn't. I don't think Spock did either."

"I did," Gaila said.

"You're the exception, Gigi," he said, taking her hand and smiling. "And anyway, that's rich coming from you, Bones. Everyone in this town at least respects you even if they do think you're a grumpy bastard. But I happen to like grumpy bastards."

"Lucky me," McCoy said.

"Damn straight," Kirk replied, his eyes twinkling.

"Well!" Gaila said, rising. "I made horchata rice pudding for dessert! With almond and rice milk!"

By the time they left Gaila's, full of easily the most delicious wheat-free, meat-free and dairy-free meal McCoy had ever eaten, it was nearly ten p.m. He was about to strap on his helmet when Kirk said, "So, I could take you home … "

"Or?" McCoy asked.

"Or, my place is just up the 101 from here." He gave McCoy a level stare.

If it had been anyone else, a one-night stand with his director would be a monumentally stupid idea. But this was Jim Kirk, so for him it was probably just another bonding experience. "Only if you take the freeway as fast as possible."

Kirk grinned. "Of course, Bones," he said, "but you'll have to hold on."

"Somehow," McCoy muttered, climbing onto the bike behind Kirk, "I don't think that will be a problem."


	4. Change of Plans

  
Something must happen to your hero one-fourth of the way through your screenplay that will transform the original desire into a specific, visible goal with a clearly defined end point. This is the scene where your story concept is defined, and your hero's outer motivation is revealed.

All things considered, Kirk thought he was doing a good job of playing it cool. McCoy was hot, but it was just sex.

So as he rode back to the Hollywood Hills he was feeling pretty damn smug about the whole evening. He hadn't even had a plan when he suggested they get together other than some vague bonding, and now they were walking into his house together.

"Wanna drink?" Kirk asked, throwing his keys on the kitchen counter.

"Sure," McCoy replied, sitting on one of the stools.

"Whiskey?"

"Bourbon?"

Kirk nodded and grabbed glasses from the cabinet. "So," he said as he poured, "come here often?" He grinned.

McCoy raised an eyebrow. "First time," he replied. "Got a lot of folks coming in here?"

"Not as many as people think."

"Business like that doesn't last forever," McCoy said. "You'd be a fool not to make the most of it."

Kirk bowed slightly. "Thank you," he said, handing McCoy his glass. "Cheers."

"Cheers," McCoy said, and took a sip. He held it in his mouth for a moment, really tasting it, then swallowed and licked his lips. That little move had been driving Kirk crazy all night, but he held back.

"Living room?" Kirk asked.

McCoy rose and followed him. "Great view."

"Yeah. Half the reason I bought the place," Kirk said, looking at the lights twinkling in the city below.

"So you have a couch facing the view and a couch facing a blank wall?"

"Oh, no," Kirk said, grabbing the remote and activating the screen, which displayed Doris Day (in a very smart hat and cape) talking to Tony Randall.

"Is that _Pillow Talk_?" McCoy asked, sitting next to Kirk on the couch.

"Yeah, I was watching it this morning. It's one of my favorites."

"You do seem to live like the Rock Hudson character. Stereotypical bachelor-around-town."

"Actually I'm Doris Day."

"Really?"

"Sure. She's smart and tough but she's also blond and hot so she gets underestimated a lot."

"Huh," McCoy said. "Dunno that you get underestimated that much anymore, Jim."

"Oh, I do. You know, I think half the reason I wanted Janice Rand as my agent is that she has the same name as Doris Day in this movie."

"Same hair, too," McCoy said, and they laughed. "So you like rom-coms?"

"Classic ones, yeah. Grew up watching them on TV with my grandmother. Always identified more with the girls."

"See, I would have taken you for the Steve McQueen silent man-of-action type. You know, with the bike and the spy films and all."

"I wish," Kirk said. "But I can't seem to shut up long enough to achieve that."

"I can help you with that," McCoy said with a raised eyebrow.

Kirk grinned. "I thought your trade was getting people to talk."

McCoy shook his head, but he was smiling. "Shut up, Jim," he said, and kissed him.

Finally those lips were on his and saying "meet me halfway," a request Kirk was more than happy to oblige. As they moved closer their knees bumped and McCoy slipped a hand into Kirk's hair.

They paused and Kirk let himself stare at McCoy. "Let's take this upstairs," he said.

Shoes, jackets, jeans and T-shirts melted away but it wasn't rushed, just friendly and deliberate. McCoy was actually smiling, so Kirk couldn't stop grinning, especially as McCoy undressed and revealed just how toned that surprisingly-good-for-a-writer body of his was. Once the clothes were gone they kissed again, standing next to the bed, and then Jim said, "So what would you like?"

McCoy cocked his head. "You're asking?"

"I'm not a bossy control freak _here_ , Bones," Jim said. "But I do know what _I_ want."

"And what's that?"

Kirk traced a thumb along McCoy's slightly open lips, and he responded by licking at the pad of Kirk's thumb, then sucking it into his mouth. Kirk gasped at the sudden wet heat.

McCoy released his thumb with a slurp. "That what you want?"

"Y-yeah," Kirk managed.

McCoy sank down to his knees, hot and determined but not particularly graceful, and Kirk was relieved because McCoy was a _writer_ so the body, fine, but moving like a panther would have been a bit _much_. He was stroking Kirk's dick, taking a moment to get acquainted, and something about his sure strokes and that fierce look in his eye told Kirk to enjoy the process and not rush him. McCoy's other hand was stroking Kirk's side and ass, as though he were a horse that needed soothing, and Kirk relaxed into his touch, resting his hands on McCoy's broad shoulders. McCoy's mouth wrapped around the head of his cock and Kirk had to gasp again at the warm, wet softness.

Kirk reached down to brush the hair out of McCoy's eyes. He looked even better than Kirk had imagined with those full lips stretched around Kirk's cock, eyes closed in concentration. He apparently wasn't a settle-into-a-rhythm kind of guy, but kept changing it up, and Kirk thought he'd probably be pretty tough to beat at tennis. While on the list of associations his mind had made during sex, it really wasn't the strangest, Kirk decided to close his eyes, give into the sensations and stop thinking so much.

Once he put himself completely in McCoy's hands, it wasn't long before he felt like he was floating, McCoy his only anchor point. When he came it was like falling out of the sky, exhilarating and sudden, and he had to grab hold of McCoy with both hands to stay upright.

McCoy let his cock slip out of his mouth and sat back on his haunches, smirking. "Work for ya?"

Kirk shrugged, "Sure," he said, still breathless, and McCoy laughed, shaking his head. "Get your ass on the bed," Kirk said.

"What happened to not being a bossy control freak?" McCoy asked as he rose to his feet.

"Details, Bones," Kirk said.

McCoy's lips were red, and that was from his _cock_ and he _had_ to kiss him if just to shut him up. McCoy tasted of him and it made Kirk feel wildly possessive for an instant, though that was probably just the determination to give as good as he'd just got.

McCoy sat at the foot of the bed and it was Kirk's turn to get down on his knees. McCoy's cock was almost purple, hard as a rock, and Kirk's mouth watered to look at it. He sucked it in, his hands resting on McCoy's muscular thighs to steady himself. He leaned forward, using lips, tongue and cheeks as he inched McCoy's cock slowly, steadily into his mouth. One of McCoy's big hands rested on his head, fingers in his hair, thumb stroking his temple and cheekbone. He breathed shallow through his nose until he reached his goal.

"Jesus," McCoy said.

Kirk smiled—sort of—and then set to work, listening carefully for grunts of approval and repeating the motions that gained responses, trying to get McCoy's stroking hand to move less calmly.

He could feel McCoy's breathing quicken, and when McCoy shouted " _Fuck_ , Jim, gonna—" he quickly pulled back until only the head was in his mouth, and McCoy came across his tongue.

McCoy let go of Kirk and flopped back on the bed, panting. Jim lay beside him, on his side, head leaning against his hand, and smiled.

McCoy grunted. "Don't have to look so _smug_ ," he said.

Kirk grinned wider. "No more smug than you were, Bones!"

"Point," McCoy said, rising up on his elbows.

"Water?"

"Yeah."

Kirk grabbed a couple of bottles from the cooler in the bathroom. When he returned McCoy had turned down the bed and was sitting up against the headboard, pillows propped up behind his back. Kirk tossed him a bottle and joined him.

"What do you usually do now?" McCoy asked.

Kirk shrugged. "Talk, maybe watch a movie." He stopped and thought about who'd been in that bed lately, then said, "Okay, usually just watch a movie. You?"

"Go home," McCoy said, then took a swig of water.

"They're never at your place?"

" _No_."

"Huh," Kirk said. "So, we could still watch a movie."

"Sure."

Kirk reached into the bedside table for the remote and clicked on the widescreen at the foot of the bed.

"It's still _Pillow Talk_?" McCoy asked.

"Oh, yeah, there's a central server for all the screens in the house."

"What if people want to see different movies?"

Kirk cocked his head. "What people? I live alone, Bones."

"Oh, right."

They fell into a companionable silence, watching Doris Day sing some goofball song while Rock Hudson looked on lovingly. Kirk tried not to stare, especially at McCoy's muscular chest, but it had all gone a bit fast and he hadn't been able to _explore_.

"Jesus, Jim, we're not in _junior high_."

"What?" Kirk asked.

"Stop being coy." McCoy tossed his now empty bottle into the basket in the corner. "We could go again."

Kirk grinned. He set his own bottle on the nightstand and turned to McCoy, sliding a hand across that pretty chest. "Yeah, we could," he said. McCoy kissed him, his big hand grasping the back of Kirk's head, and Kirk thought this go around, he was going to take as much time as he wanted.

* * *

  
The next morning Kirk opened his eyes, then blinked, not sure for a moment if the events of the previous evening had actually happened. He rolled over to confirm and found an empty bed, a note on the pillow:

  


> went SWIMMING in your pool  
>  where's the damn COFFEE?

  


  
Kirk smiled and rose out of bed to look out his window at the pool below. Sure enough, McCoy was swimming laps.

Only he was naked. Swimming backstroke.

Kirk enjoyed the view for a bit, then went downstairs to start the coffee maker. It seemed kind of rude to put on clothes when McCoy hadn't, so he was naked as well when he brought mugs and milk out to the pool. McCoy, seeing him, swam over to the edge and hopped up onto the ledge, sitting with his feet in the water, and Kirk joined him.

"I know you take it milk no sugar," Kirk said, "but all I have is soy milk and some object to that, so I just brought it out."

"Soy's fine," McCoy said, slurping the black coffee to make room for the milk. "How did you know that?"

"We did have breakfast, Bones."

"You remembered?"

"Yeah, well," Kirk said, "I remember basically everything. It's sort of my superpower. I know it unnerves people sometimes, but it doesn't mean I've got a notebook about you or something."

"Then I'm disappointed," McCoy said, smiling.

Kirk smiled back. It was nice to see McCoy so at ease. "Didn't take you for an exhibitionist, Bones."

"Didn't exactly bring a suit, Jim."

"Yeah, but the backstroke?"

"Oh, M'Benga said I needed to loosen up my back."

"M'Benga? So _that's_ why you have the body of an actor."

McCoy chuckled. "Geoff's an old friend—he did a half season on _Three to Tango_ back when he was still acting."

Kirk squinted for a moment. "He played Booker, right? The one Zoe almost gets engaged to?"

"Yep. Now I get free personal training, we can hang out someplace other than a bar in West Hollywood, and he calls me a walking billboard for the gym."

"It's effective," Kirk said. "Can't think of another time I'd be offering a shirt to someone who might stretch it out."

"Huh, you know," McCoy said, "I haven't stayed over at anyone's place since Jo came to live with me. Maybe even before that."

"Really?"

"Yeah—just haven't dated, I guess. I'd rather spend time with Jo, or friends."

"So is this weird?"

"No," McCoy said. "It's not weird at all, actually."

"Good," Kirk replied. "Because I want to take you to breakfast. How's Waffle House sound?"

"Why Jim Kirk," McCoy said. "You sure know how to treat a girl."

* * *

  
In the car Kirk was mostly trying not to be distracted by how McCoy filled out the Rock Hudson T-shirt he'd lent him. After all, they'd had sex twice last night and once this morning (showers and come on, they were both naked anyway) but it wasn't like they were dating, or even like the friends with benefits thing with Carol.

After they showered they'd started talking shop anyway, so Kirk suggested Spock meet them. McCoy reminded him to call Uhura, which Kirk had Spock do because she seemed to like him better, oddly.

Kirk and McCoy arrived at the Waffle House first and grabbed a booth, sitting on opposite sides. McCoy looked out the window into the parking lot. "Huh," he said. "They came together."

Kirk looked up. "She looks different in casual clothes." He waved them over as they came in.

"Good morning," Spock said, sitting next to Kirk. "I see that McCoy is wearing your shirt."

Kirk glanced up at McCoy as Uhura slid into the booth beside him. "He is."

"Shall I presume that—"

"It's like Sulu," Kirk said, cutting him off.

"Is it?" Spock asked. "Because that was unusual."

McCoy cleared his throat. "If by 'like Sulu' you mean after some flirtation having sex the one time to clear the air so you can go on being friends or coworkers or what-have-you, then yes, it's 'like Sulu.'"

"Fascinating," Spock replied. "I have never done anything like that, though I believe many think Jim and I have." He turned to Uhura. "Have you, Miss Uhura?"

Uhura's jaw dropped. "I—"

"Spock," McCoy said, eyes flashing, "where I come from you don't ask a _lady_ about her _sex life_ at the _Waffle House_."

"Is the operative part of that sentence 'lady' or 'Waffle House'?" Kirk asked, trying to lighten the mood, and was rewarded by McCoy sticking his tongue out at him.

Spock looked confused. "Carol often invites questions about her sexual activities."

"Yeah, but Carol overshares," Kirk said. "You can't go by her."

"Very well," Spock said. "Miss Uhura, I apologize."

Uhura smiled. "It's fine, Spock," she said. "I don't generally talk about my sex life, at the Waffle House or anyplace else. But no, I've never had clearing the air sex."

Spock nodded.

"Glad we have that settled," Kirk said, and signaled the waitress.

Orders made, Kirk turned to Spock. "Okay, give me the numbers."

"Don't you get the email?" Uhura asked.

"Yeah, but I can never bring myself to open it," Kirk replied.

Spock looked down at his blackberry. "45.7," he said.

"Not the total, just Saturday," Kirk clarified.

"That was Saturday," Spock replied. "The current total is 72.3."

Kirk stared at Spock. "So what you're telling me is —"

"With Sunday and Monday to go, _A Taste of Armageddon_ is on track for an opening weekend well in excess of one hundred million dollars."

"Ha!" Kirk said. " _Excellent!_ "

"Hope that means breakfast's on you, Jim," McCoy said.

"Always was, Bones. Always was." He drummed his hands on the table. "So thanks again, Uhura, for the suggestion. McCoy's on board, so we're go for Gaila."

"Good," she said, taking out her smartphone. "I'll get started on the deal when I'm back in the office on Tuesday."

"Which reminds me," Kirk said, taking out his own blackberry, "we should send a gift to the _Bread and Circuses_ people for being in hiatus so we could steal two of their lovely ladies."

"I don't think they think of me as one of their lovely ladies, Kirk," Uhura said.

"Well, they should," Kirk replied.

"No, I mean, I didn't get this position by being a lovely lady."

Kirk looked up and Uhura's face was stern. "Point taken," he said. "I'll come up with something else for the card."

"Thank you," Uhura replied.

The food came then, and Kirk immediately put his toast on Spock's plate. "What?" he asked, noticing McCoy's stare.

McCoy pointed at their plates. "That's why people think you two are fucking, Jim."

"Because I don't eat toast?"

"Because you give it to _him_ and it's clearly a habit."

Kirk shrugged. "Diners don't like substitutions. I give him my toast, he gives me his hash browns."

"I'm just sayin'," McCoy replied.

"It's one thing if it's on the gossip blogs—whatever. But people who know us well enough to watch us eat breakfast?"

"Jim," Spock said, "I believe your mother erroneously assumes that we are romantically entangled."

"Yeah, well, my mother doesn't know me very well," Jim replied. "What about you, Uhura? Did you think we were?"

Uhura paused. "When anyone asked me about those rumors, I would always say that I hoped Spock had more self-respect than to be the secret boyfriend of a notorious Lothario."

"In fact, I do," Spock replied.

"And so do I," Kirk said. "I'm a serial monogamist."

"Very short run series," McCoy said.

"Don't get picked up for a second season," Uhura added.

"Never make it to syndication," Spock said.

"Ha ha," he said, feeling a little betrayed that Spock had chosen that moment to make one of his rare jokes. "Well, save the occasional special I'm on hiatus now, so could we maybe talk about the movie?"

"It is your meeting, Jim," Spock said.

"Good. I'm having lunch with Chekov on Tuesday. Uhura, what's your take on screen tests?"

"They're useful if the actor is unknown or going for a role very different from what they usually play. Chemistry tests can be crucial for series. Why?"

"I hate 'em," Kirk said, shaking his head. "They're artificial. I always found one-on-one meetings more productive, maybe readings if necessary. When it's right, you just know in your gut. I mean, as soon as you said Gaila's name it felt right."

"So what are you really asking me, Kirk?"

"Pike never made us show him screen tests after the first movie. Sure, the villains were big names anyway, but still. I'd rather not have to screen test Chekov. We know he can act; he's got some serious stuff on his resume, not just the Disney show."

"Does Spock usually come with you to these meetings?" Uhura asked.

Spock shook his head. "Casting is Jim's forte. In addition, meeting with an actor requires a social finesse that I admit I do not possess."

McCoy grunted, and Kirk raised an eyebrow at him. "Spock, old friend, you have other strengths."

"Quite," Spock replied.

"I'd like to attend the lunch with Chekov," Uhura said. "I won't get in your way and we needn't specify I'm with Fleet if you'd rather not. But I want to observe your method before agreeing to it."

Kirk nodded. "That's fair," he said, though inwardly he winced, chafing at his new bonds. Spock sensed this as usual and noted it with a soft tap on Kirk's foot with his own foot. Aloud, Kirk continued, "I'll get you the details today or tomorrow."

"Thanks," Uhura said.

"So, Spock," Kirk said, "heard from Scotty?"

"No more than you," Spock replied. "He has yet to, as he put it, 'fall in love' with any location, but remains optimistic."

"Well, if you two are good I'd like to take Bones to Iowa next weekend to work on the script. Maybe head out Wednesday for a week?"

McCoy scrolled through his iPhone. "Should be fine," he said, "but I'll have to check."

"Great," Kirk said. "See, Spock, we can absolutely have productive meetings at the Waffle House."

"Perhaps we should have all of our meetings here," Spock said, "and you can have a regular table."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Kirk replied.

The breakfast meeting broke up not long after that, and they went their separate ways in the parking lot, Uhura climbing into Spock's Prius while McCoy came with Kirk. The drive to Venice was pleasant—no traffic, beautiful day—but when Kirk pulled up to the house it suddenly felt a little awkward.

"Thanks," McCoy said. "I had a nice time."

"Me too," Kirk said.

McCoy nodded. "All of it."

"I should hope so," Kirk replied, grinning. "I have a reputation!"

They both laughed then. "So I'll, uh, let you know about Wednesday, probably later today or tomorrow, the latest."

"Cool," Kirk replied.

McCoy hesitated, then got out of the car and waved as Kirk drove away.

Kirk turned on the radio. Completely successful Saturday in every way possible. Number one movie in the country, productive breakfast meeting, and Uhura actually seemed to be softening up a little. Life was pretty awesome.

* * *

  
The car arrived in Venice at 7:30—early, to be sure, but they'd be dropping Joanna McCoy off at school before heading to the airport in Santa Monica where the private plane was waiting for them.

"Hey, Joanna," Kirk said as she got into the car. "Thanks for lending me your dad for the week."

She shrugged. "He should get out more," she said, sliding over to make room for her father.

"Staying with your mom a little early, huh?" Kirk asked.

"Tomorrow I am," she replied, "but she's busy tonight so I'm staying with Chris and Jan."

"Girls' night," Kirk said. "Fun."

"I know, right?" Joanna said. "We're going to play video games and order in pizza."

"Wish I'd known you're a gamer," Kirk said. "Would've sent you the tie-in game for the new movie."

"No offense, but the last one kinda—I mean, wasn't that great," Joanna said.

Kirk sighed. "I know," he replied. "But the new one is better; I played it myself." He got out his blackberry. "I'll have J.L. send it over to Jan, and that way you can play it tonight."

"Wow, thanks, Jim!"

"But," Kirk said, trying to look as stern as possible, "you have to let me know what you really think about it."

Joanna nodded solemnly, looking so much like her father that Kirk had to bite his lip to keep from grinning. "I will, I promise," she said.

"Great." Kirk looked over at McCoy, who seemed half asleep. "Bones, you with us?" he asked.

"You'll be fine, Dad," Joanna said, patting his shoulder.

"Something wrong?" Kirk asked.

McCoy opened his eyes. "It's early and I don't have to drive. I'm enjoying it."

Joanna was dropped off at school not long after that, with hugs from her father, and the rest of the trip passed without incident. McCoy dozed for most of the flight and Kirk left him alone, as his posture was one of a hibernating bear—wake at your own risk. Luckily he opened his eyes as they were taxiing around the Sioux City airport.

McCoy peered at the vehicle that had pulled up on the tarmac. "This doesn't look like a rental," he said as he put his bag in the back.

"Oh I keep a car here," Kirk replied, putting on his sunglasses and attaching the car key back on his Iowa key chain, a _M*A*S*H_ logo he'd found at a yard sale.

"At the airport?" McCoy asked.

"No, in the city, in a garage," he replied as they drove away.

"Huh," McCoy said. "I don't usually ask this, but how many cars do you _have_?"

"Three and the bike," Kirk replied, and really, he didn't find that excessive, especially as the Iowa car was a four-year-old Grand Cherokee. "Anyway the drive's about an hour. You hungry? Winona's probably making something but that's not 'til supper."

"No, I'm fine," McCoy said. "And Winona is?"

"Oh, sorry—my mother."

"Do you always refer to your mother by her first name."

Kirk shrugged. "It's simpler. I call her 'Ma" though."

"Simpler?"

"Let's just say that being a young widow with two little kids in the middle of Iowa wasn't really in her life plan. She tried, but—"

"Sometimes your best isn't good enough," McCoy finished.

Kirk glanced at him. "Yeah."

McCoy nodded, and they fell into a contemplative sort of silence, so Kirk turned on the radio. _I hide in my music, forget the day_. Kirk kept time with his fingers on the steering wheel and sang along under his breath.

McCoy turned to him. "You gotta be kidding me."

"What?"

"Boston? Really?"

"What's wrong with classic rock?"

McCoy sighed. "Nothing, except most of it was written _before we were born_ and any song with more musical sophistication than a _thimble_ has been banned from the format."

"Geez, Bones, tell me how you really feel."

"I just can't see how anyone with any taste can listen to it unironically. Sure, I put on the country station at times when I'm back in Georgia, but a man has to draw the line _someplace_. And you—you can listen to Pylon and this?"

Kirk winced. "Oh, yeah, about that—"

"What?"

"I, uh, I saw it on your shirt, so I looked it up on my Blackberry."

"That's what you were doing when I walked in?"

"Yeah, looking it up on wiki. What? I read fast. And I knew I was the director to make this movie. I just had to convince you of that."

McCoy growled.

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?"

"That the only time you've pulled one over on me?"

"I swear, Bones, it totally is."

"Well, don't do it again."

"I won't. To you."

McCoy rolled his eyes. The song changed then, a driving beat on drums and low keyboard, and McCoy turned the dial immediately. "Boston is one thing," he said, "but _no Doors_!"

Kirk had to laugh at that.

Winona was sitting on the front porch reading as they drove up. She shielded her eyes from the sun with one hand. "Have a good flight?" she called out.

"Yep," Kirk replied, giving her a hug. "Ma, this is Leonard McCoy. Bones, this is my mother."

"Call me Winona," she said, smiling. "A nickname already?"

"Apparently so, ma'am," McCoy replied.

"And manners too! Well, Jim'll show you up to your room. There's spare ribs in the crock pot."

"I can smell 'em," Kirk said as he walked into the house.

The men cleaned up and helped with supper. After the meal McCoy acquitted himself well against the Kirks during several rounds of cut-throat Scrabble—apparently he could be quite the charmer when he wanted to be. Once Winona had gone up to bed Kirk pulled out the nice bottle of scotch and poured them each a nightcap, and when he walked back into the living room McCoy was looking at a photo of a man in an Air Force uniform.

"Your dad?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"You look like him."

Kirk looked down at the photo. "Yeah. Made it harder on her, especially when I was a teenager." He handed McCoy a glass. "Come out on the porch? The stars are gorgeous."

* * *

  
After breakfast the next morning Kirk lead McCoy out to the barn.

"Your office is out here?" McCoy asked.

"It's not a working farm anymore," Kirk said. "But it's a gorgeous old building. It needed to be put to some use, even if just on occasion." He took McCoy past the main room, with its folding wooden chairs, old sheet for a screen, and film projector, through the door into the office.

"Pretty low tech, Jim," McCoy said, looking around the room. An old dining room table sat in the center, several chairs around it. A ceiling lamp hung over the middle, an old-fashioned metal filing cabinet sat in the corner, and a window looked out onto the fields beyond the house.

"I dunno," Kirk said. "We got 'lectricity."

"No internet?"

"Dial-up in the house, but nothing out here."

"Data service?" he asked, holding up his phone.

"I told you, cell service is intermittent at the house."

McCoy sighed. "Kinda twentieth century."

"Yeah, but it's good for team building and getting work done."

"And what will you be doing while I'm writing?"

"Cross-stitching encouraging sayings onto pillows?" McCoy narrowed his eyes, which made Kirk grin. "I'm going to start breaking down the script. Haven't had the chance, with all the promotion for the new movie."

McCoy nodded, and set his laptop down on the table. "So where's the plug?"

"Before we do that," Kirk said, sitting down opposite him, "why don't you tell me the story."

"Of the movie?"

"No, the true story. Doesn't take a genius to know it's based on the events and given how strongly you feel about casting the son, I think it's _your_ story."

McCoy shifted in his chair. "You're a perceptive fella, Jim Kirk."

Kirk kept his face neutral and said nothing, though he was holding his breath.

"Momma died when I was small," McCoy said, and Kirk relaxed just a little in his chair. "So it was just Daddy and me for a long time. He got sick the first time my senior year of high school—lung cancer, though he'd never been a smoker—but they caught it early and he was in remission after treatment. I'd always wanted to be a doctor, even if I was better at English than science classes, and went through my first year at Ole Miss as a pre-med."

"You were inspired," Kirk said.

"Yeah," he said with a little smile. "They cured my dad and I thought, I want to do that. So I worked hard, didn't party much outside of the football games, but Jocelyn understood."

"You were already dating her then?"

"We were high school sweethearts."

Kirk nodded. "So were my parents."

"I didn't put her in the script because—"

"This isn't about the script," Kirk said, holding up his hands. "Okay?"

"Okay," McCoy replied. He tapped his fingers on the table for a moment. "I came home at Christmas and Daddy was fine, in really good spirits. Went to the Gulf Coast for spring break with some friends, so I wasn't home again until May. And then …" McCoy trailed off, looking over Kirk's shoulder out the window.

"I'm sorry, Bones," Kirk said, smiling a little. "I asked you to talk and didn't give you anything to drink." He hopped up, keeping his back to McCoy, and grabbed two bottles of water from the mini-fridge in the corner. "There you go," he said, setting one down on the table.

"Thanks," McCoy said. He opened the bottle and took a big gulp, composing himself. "Well, when I got home Gran was sitting on the front porch. Apparently Daddy had been in and out of the hospital since March, but he forbade anyone to tell me. Didn't want to interfere with my studies or something. He'd said—" and here McCoy paused and smiled a little—"he'd said he wasn't gonna die before May. He was willful like that. Guess that's where I get it from."

"Willful's cool," Kirk said. "I can work with willful."

"Good thing," McCoy replied. "So the docs said when the cancer came back it got to his heart and there was nothing they could do. And I thought, what _had_ they done for him? Cut him open and pump him full of poison? We're in the space age and _that's_ our cure for cancer? It's barbaric!"

"I think surgery and chemotherapy are a little better than leeches, Bones," Kirk said.

"Not by much," McCoy insisted. "Now that I was home Daddy wanted to come home, too, so we got a nurse to come by in the evenings when I was working, and keep on top of his pills. And Gran helped—she taught me to cook that summer."

"Working where?"

"A roadhouse bar down the way. My cousin owned it. Mostly bussed and cleaned glasses, though sometimes I got behind the bar. Kept me in gas money, let me put some savings away, and gave me plenty of stories to tell Daddy the next day."

"If it was anything like the bars around here," Kirk said, "I bet you did have plenty."

McCoy smirked. "And from what I've heard, I bet that you were the center of a lot of those stories in those bars around here."

"Later," Kirk said. "We're talking about you now. So you wanted stories to tell your father? Was that something you did often?"

"My grandaddy tells stories, and I used to sit next to him and soak 'em up. So he started teaching them to me, all that old family lore that _his_ granddaddy taught _him_. After that, well, I was always telling stories." He paused, taking another drink. "'Bout all I could do for Daddy that summer."

McCoy sat silent for a bit after that, looking out the window. Kirk didn't want to push him, but they hadn't yet discussed the central event of the script. McCoy could be prickly, had been on their flight, but Kirk took a chance and reached his had across the table, laying it atop McCoy's. "What happened, Bones?" he asked quietly.

McCoy's eyes met his, and they were so sad that Kirk almost changed his mind. But there was a reason that McCoy had written the script, and he wanted the movie to be made as much as Kirk did.

"Whatever it is, it's okay," Kirk said.

McCoy cleared his throat. "Come August, I'd started talking about taking a term off but Daddy said, 'I don't think that'll be required, kiddo. I'll be gone by the time you go back to school.' I asked him how he knew, and he said he'd make sure of it." McCoy's hand turned under Kirk's to grasp it. "I didn't have the heart to talk him out of it. He was so tired, in so much pain despite the drugs. We did a few last things, and then I helped him take the pills he'd saved." He cleared his throat again. "When our local doc came, he had to know, but he just signed the death certificate, didn't say a word. And that was that." He took a long drink of water. "When I went back to school, I changed my major from pre-med to English, joined the magazine, and I've been writing ever since."

They were silent for a while, hands still clasped across the table. At last Kirk said, "I'm sorry, Bones."

"Yeah, me too." He released Kirk's hand. "So, did I give you what you needed, Jim?"

"What the _movie_ needed," Kirk replied, "and yes. Right now the script is all about what the father did for the son. You left out what the son did for the father—all those stories you told him—and _that's_ how we can get the humor back into the film." He sat back in his chair.

"Huh," McCoy said, blinking. "Well, I—yeah. Yeah, you're right."

"Of course I am," Kirk said, smiling.

* * *

  
Kirk's idea to come out to Iowa was the right one, as the week was productive. Of course McCoy was used to working with others around, having cut his teeth in sitcom writing rooms. And so was Kirk, given that he was usually working with Spock, or Scotty and Sulu. Mostly Kirk sketched storyboards—McCoy said it was "too damn early, Jim" but it was the best way for him to sink his fingers into the script, and it wasn't like they couldn't be easily changed. McCoy was changing small things here and there, though he did upend one scene, and what he added was often hilarious. And he seemed lighter somehow, as though he'd fallen into a groove and stopped worrying so much.

At night they watched movies Kirk had brought as inspiration. He hadn't directed something so internally focused in a while, so he'd brought mostly indie films, especially those of Jonathan Archer. Though he couldn't deny that after the conversation they'd had about it, it was also "any excuse to watch _The Naked Time_ with Bones."

And then on Monday morning Sulu called the house and said Scotty had found the perfect location, so he was heading there with Spock and would stop off in Iowa to pick them up. Kirk and McCoy agreed they'd gotten what they needed to out of the retreat anyway, so they packed up, said goodbye to Winona, and headed to the airport.

It wasn't until they were on the tarmac that Kirk realized he'd left out a crucial piece of information in letting McCoy know what was going on. Or really McCoy had, because he took one look at Sulu's plane and dug in his heels.

"Oh no," he said. "No way I'm getting in that thing."

"Bones, it's the same kind of plane that we took out here," Kirk replied.

"Yeah, but that was flown by a _professional_ , not Plays with a Camera over here." He looked at Sulu. "No offense."

Sulu shrugged. "None taken."

"I assure you that Mr. Sulu has logged thousands of hours of flying time since receiving his license," Spock said. "He is more than fully qualified. To be more afraid because Mr. Sulu has another profession is illogical."

"Logic has fuck all to do with it!" Bones shouted.

Kirk cocked his head, and thought about their car ride and flight out to Iowa. "What did you take, Bones?"

"What?"

"To get out here," Kirk said. "What did you take?"

McCoy averted his eyes. "A Xanax. And I only have one left."

"So you could—"

"How would I get back to LA?"

"He does have a point," Sulu said.

"Well," Kirk said, pulling out his blackberry, "we can get a commercial flight—"

"No," McCoy said, shaking his head. "I'll cowboy up. Guess I'll have to do this the old fashioned way." He reached into his duffel and took out a flask. "But I ate breakfast, Jim, so I may throw up on you."

Kirk grinned, trying to exude as much confidence as humanly possible, and patted him on the shoulder. "It'll be great, Bones!"

McCoy grunted, though Kirk was learning that a grunt was about as close to acquiescence as he generally got, so he took it, and led McCoy up the stairs into the plane.

After takeoff, during which Kirk held McCoy's hand and Sulu played McCoy's iPod over the sound system, McCoy calmed down a bit. He continued to get quietly drunk throughout the flight, landings apparently being worse than takeoffs for him, but the rest of the journey went without incident. Still, Kirk was unsurprised to see McCoy snoozing in the back of the van soon after Scotty came to pick them up.

Scotty, on the other hand, was almost vibrating with glee. "Wait 'til you see it, Cap," he said, grinning. "It's _perfect_. Plenty of space to set up and the flow of the rooms—as though we'd built it, truly."

"And you have ensured its availability?" Spock asked.

"The bloke living there is renting from his cousin," Scotty said, "who apparently works in the business, so it's unlikely he'll put up too much of a fuss. The cousin's been away for the week but I reckon when he's back from his trip the Cap can convince him."

"One hopes," Spock replied.

After about an hour of driving further back into the Georgia woods Scotty turned onto a rutted unpaved road. "It's just at the end here," Scotty said.

The jostling of the van must have woken McCoy, as he stirred then, and Kirk turned to him, smiling. "Welcome back, Bones," he whispered, resisting the urge to brush the hair out of his eyes.

McCoy blinked and sat up straighter. "Where are we?" he asked, looking out the windows.

"Somewhere in Georgia?" Kirk asked. "Almost there, anyway."

"Aye, this turn here," Scotty said, and as he turned into the drive a simple white house came into view.

And then McCoy, oddly, started to giggle.

Scotty scowled. "Don't judge 'til you've seen her insides!"

Spock leaned into Kirk. "I believe he is still under the influence of alcohol," he said.

"Like hell I am," McCoy replied, jumping out of the van as soon as Scotty came to a stop.

A man was walking out of the front door of the house, smiling. "Lenny!" he said, and they hugged warmly. "Been trying to reach you. These movie folks wanna use your house."

"Your house?" Kirk asked.

"So I see," McCoy said, nodding. "Don't wanna put _you_ out, Bobby."

"Nah, I'll be fine," he said. "I spend most of the summer out on the boat anyway."

"Great!"

"Wait," Kirk said. "Wait, so this is—"

"My house," McCoy said. "Well, technically it's in trust for Joanna, but this is the house I grew up in." He and Kirk looked at each other for a moment, and Kirk could tell he didn't want to say out loud what else had happened in this house.

"Well, how about that," Scotty said.

"No wonder it's perfect," Kirk replied. "So can we use it?"

McCoy looked up at the house, then back at Kirk. "I think I can give you a deal on it," he said.


	5. Progress

  
For the next 25% of your story, your hero's plan seems to be working as she takes action to achieve her goal.

Joanna spotted her father the second she came out of her school building and made a beeline for him.

"Dad!" she said, giving him a hug.

"Guess you missed me," McCoy replied, holding her close.

"Maybe," she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

"Well, we've got all of this coming weekend to make up for it. In fact, whadya say we take a walk on the beach before dinner?"

"Did anything happen?" she asked, looking up at him suspiciously. The beach was where they had Important Family Talks.

"No," he replied. "Nothing's happened. I just wanted to tell you about your grandfather McCoy."

He'd been putting it off long enough, but now that there were locations and a pretty firm shooting script and actors attached, it was probably time to stop assuming that the deal would fall through any day now. It was easier than he'd anticipated, probably because he'd just told Kirk the same story less than a week ago. Of course, in a way Kirk had already known—he'd read the script—and Joanna needed different details. But McCoy managed not to cry, so that was something. Certainly being able to stare out at the endless ocean and feel the breeze in his hair helped.

When he finished Joanna was silent, so McCoy let her be and tried not to nervously play with the sand at his feet. After a while she said, "You just did what he wanted, Dad."

"Yeah," he replied, looking at her. "But it was the hardest thing I've ever done."

She teared up then, and threw her arms around his waist. "I think you were very brave."

"You know, your mom said that too," McCoy replied, and hugged his daughter a little tighter.

* * *

  
Friday evening McCoy was looking forward to spending a rare weekend with Joanna. She was having a few friends over for an impromptu beach-day-and-sleepover on Saturday, so they'd hit the Costco after he picked her up from school to make sure they had all the makings for her great-grandma's sweet potato waffles. They were just putting the groceries away when McCoy got a text:

>   
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  hey Bones you home?
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  yeah, I'm here, what's up?
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  got something to show you. can I swing by?
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  sure, got no plans to go out
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  GREAT see you later.

  
McCoy couldn't think of what would be that urgent. He'd sent a revision to Kirk earlier that day, but Kirk gave his notes via email so it couldn't be that. He didn't give McCoy much time to brood on it—he was knocking on the door five minutes later.

"Were you texting me from my street or something, Jim?" McCoy asked as he opened the door.

"Kinda," he admitted. "I came over and then realized you might not be around." He shrugged. "It's not really a problem with Spock."

"Why does that not surprise me? Well, come on in."

"Thanks. Oh, hey, Joanna," he said, waving to her in the kitchen.

"Hi, Jim! Thanks again for the game," she replied.

"No, thank you for the review," he said.

Joanna nodded. "Any time, really."

"It was very perceptive and also hilarious." Kirk turned to McCoy. "Seems like writing funny runs in your family."

"Yeah, that apple didn't fall far," McCoy replied, smiling at Joanna. "So what did you want me to see?"

Kirk handed him a DVD, which he put into the player.

"This had better be kid-safe," McCoy said.

"Oh, it is," Kirk replied.

McCoy hit play on the remote, and after a moment of black came a scene from a TV show, about fifteen years old, that was all too familiar to McCoy. "Jim, where did you get this?"

Kirk started giggling. "C'mon, Bones, it's on your IMDB. It's not like it's _obscure_."

"What is it?" Joanna asked, coming into the room.

"It's me," McCoy said, just as a younger, blonder version of himself came on the screen. McCoy sat on the couch and put his head in his hands.

"Wow," Joanna said. "Even your beard is blonder. And—are those _wings_?"

McCoy groaned.

"What even is this?" she asked.

"Your father," Kirk said, and McCoy could hear the smirk in his voice, "was in an old sci-fi show for a few episodes back in '94. What are you, an angel or something?"

"Cupid," McCoy said. "I was Cupid."

"I didn't know you acted, Dad," Joanna said.

"It was just the one time," McCoy replied, slumping back on the couch. "Your mom was carrying you and we needed a little extra cash to cover the doctor, things you needed, especially since it wasn't like she could get dance work. A pal of mine was working on this show and an actor dropped out last minute and he asked if I could come in as a favor to them, since I'd helped work on the script, so I jumped at it." He chuckled. "Your mother hated the blond hair by the way. Made me dye it back."

"I don't blame her," Joanna said, looking at the screen.

"So Jim, was this just about making me look a little foolish in front of my kid?" McCoy asked. "Because I do that pretty regularly without any outside help."

"No, Bones; I didn't even know Joanna would be here," Kirk said. "I brought it because you said that Chekov was 'all eyes and hair' and I just wanted to show you that you were, too." He cocked his head, looking at the screen. "Well, eyes and hair and cheekbones."

"What do you think, Jo?" McCoy asked.

"Chekov like, Pavel Chekov from _Charlie X_? To play you?"

"Well, not actual me. Fictional me."

Joanna bit her lip, thinking. "You could do worse. A lot of the girls like him."

"Not you?" Kirk asked.

"He's not my type," she said, shrugging.

"Joanna doesn't like actors, only musicians," McCoy said.

"Oh?" Kirk asked. "Such as?"

"Ezra Koenig? Lead singer of Vampire Weekend?"

"Wow, Bones, she's a music snob like you," Kirk said.

"I dunno," McCoy replied. "They're kinda poppy."

Joanna crossed her arms. "Dad, we agreed to disagree."

"You're right. Sorry." He looked at Kirk. "Fine, I give. I dunno why you need my approval, Jim, but if Chekov is your man, then he's my man."

"Great!" Kirk said. "Well, I guess I should get out of your hair—"

"Stay for dinner?" McCoy asked. "We've got plenty, and it'll balance out the slumber party Jo's having tomorrow night."

"Slumber parties are for little girls," Joanna said. "I have some friends staying over."

"What's the difference?" Kirk asked.

"We're not going to crank call boys or play with a ouija board or any of that," she explained. "We're going to spend the day at the beach and the night playing video games and listening to music and maybe watch a movie."

"Gotcha," Kirk replied. "Well, if you're sure it's no trouble."

"None at all," McCoy said, getting up from the couch. "Besides, I found out in Iowa that you know how to chop an onion and wash a dish, so you can't get out of helping in the kitchen."

"Geez, Bones," Kirk said, smiling at Joanna. "Don't expose _all_ my secrets!"

* * *

  
Monday afternoon Kirk called a status meeting at Fleet. Everything sounded great, all moving forward to that June 30th start date, and McCoy was impressed at how quickly Kirk could get his people mobilized. And then Uhura mentioned something that had entirely slipped McCoy's mind.

"What's happening with the casting of the father?" she asked.

Kirk sighed. "Everyone we've talked to so far either isn't interested, wants too much money, or isn't available. It's frustrating."

"Deanna Troi in casting tells me there's been some reluctance on your end with one of the names on the list," Uhura said.

"What name is that?" Spock asked.

"It doesn't matter. It's untenable," Kirk replied.

"I really think you should reconsider," Uhura said. "He's read the script and he's interested."

"And who sent him the script?" Kirk asked.

"The studio," Uhura replied.

"You mean you did."

"No," Uhura said, sharply. "Deanna had the idea, and I think it's a good one."

McCoy leaned over and whispered to Spock, "Who are they talking about?"

"Khan," Spock whispered back.

McCoy winced. "I see."

"Quite."

Kirk tapped his pencil on the table. "And he wants to work with me?"

"If he's over your little spat," Uhura said coldly, "why shouldn't you be?"

"Little spat?" Kirk said.

"Ms. Uhura," Spock said quickly, "I believe that you lack a sufficient understanding of the conflict between Jim and Khan."

Uhura turned to Spock. "Enlighten me."

"Very well," Spock said, nodding. "As you know, Khan appeared in _Space Seed_ , the third Bibi Besch movie, as the villain Ricardo. He was somewhat forceful, and butted heads with both Carol and Jim, but as Carol and Jim often argue with each other on set it wasn't particularly notable. He acquitted himself very well in the role and, I believe, gained some good notices for the film."

"And stole my assistant," Kirk said.

"I believe the correct term is 'married', Jim," Spock said.

"Marla was a great assistant. I was sorry to lose her."

"You liked her because she never said no to you," Sulu said.

"Yeah," Kirk said, smiling. "Great in an assistant. Not so great in a girlfriend."

"So that's what this is about?" Uhura asked. "He stole your girlfriend?"

"No, no, we'd long since broken up by then," Kirk said.

"Marla was the girl of the second movie, _Balance of Terror_ ," Scotty said. "By the third movie Jim was dating the actress that played Carol's contact at the agency, Edith Keeler."

"You dated Edith?" McCoy asked.

"Yeah?" Kirk said.

"I dated her too, right after the divorce. Nice girl. Very idealistic."

"Very," Kirk said. "She's in New York now, doing off-Broadway. Talented but, you know, no claws."

"Interesting as this is," Uhura said, "can we return to the matter at hand?"

"Of course," Spock said. "Some months later, Khan contacted Jim, having heard that Jim's friend Clark Terrell was about to direct _Moby-Dick_ as a cable movie. Khan had long wanted to play Captain Ahab."

"He was always quoting from the book on set," Sulu said. "It was weird."

Spock nodded. "So he asked Jim to put in a good word for him with Clark."

"Which I did," Jim said. "But at the time I was in the middle of trying to get _Specter of the Gun_ off the ground, so while I did what I could, I didn't exactly pester the guy. Clark knows what he wants, generally."

"Clark decided to give Khan a screen test for the role," Spock said. "Unfortunately that test did not go well, and Khan did not get the part."

Kirk shuddered. "Clark showed me the test later. I think Khan had such a fixed idea of Ahab, had been thinking about him for so long, that he couldn't let go, couldn't be in the moment, couldn't even take any direction from Clark. His test was mannered, like a silent actor—wildly overplayed and all over the place. I couldn't blame Clark for not casting him."

"Khan was understandably upset," Spock continued. "But he blamed Jim, decided that Jim had actually advised Clark against casting Khan, when of course Jim did no such thing. He began to disparage Jim's professionalism around town, and some of the things he said eventually ended up in a profile _Vanity Fair_ was doing of Jim, which was published during the publicity period for _Specter_."

"And then all hell broke loose," Sulu said.

"So to speak," Spock said. "We had to physically restrain Carol from taking out an ad in _Variety_ saying that Khan was, as she put it, 'a lying bastard.' Khan's statements overshadowed much of the promotion of the film, including the interviews with Carol and Jim, though happily it did not seem to have any effect on the success of the film itself."

"It was a touchy few weeks," Jim said. "Reporters kept asking, and I just kept saying that I was surprised that Khan had such a different takeaway than I did, and that he was a pleasure to work with. Eventually it all died down, but I've never been so glad to get to Spain as I was that year."

"Of course," Spock said, "Clark Terrell knew the real story, and he told it to anyone who asked—not the press, of course, but insiders. Once that story got around town, many directors decided they did not want to work with Khan, and he has worked very little since the incident. He moved out to Taos, where sadly Marla died about a year ago."

"I sent flowers," Jim said. "Maybe that's why he's decided he likes me again. Or maybe it's the part—it really is a fantastic part, and he could do a lot with it, only …"

"Only?" Uhura asked.

"Only obviously I can't trust him, and I'm not sure if he'd listen to a damn thing I said on set. When Carol's around, that's one thing; Bibi Besch movies are always kind of a circus. But _That Which Survives_ ain't that kind of party."

Uhura was silent for a moment, staring at Kirk. "Is this why you don't like screen tests?" she asked.

"One of the reasons, yeah," Kirk replied.

"Would you agree to meet with him? Give him another chance?" she asked. "You're clearly open to the idea."

"All right," Kirk said, "but I'm not going alone." He looked at Spock for a moment, then back to Uhura. "Since the lunch with Chekov went so well, Uhura, would you accompany me?"

"Of course," Uhura replied. "I'd be happy to."

The meeting broke up shortly after that, Sulu and Scotty wandering off and Spock striking up a conversation with Uhura.

Kirk watched them go, then turned to McCoy. "Hey Bones," he said, "when do you have to go pick up your daughter?"

McCoy looked at the clock. "In about an hour, why?"

"Come back to my office? No point in going over there now, right?" He smiled.

"Sure, Jim," McCoy said, and followed him and Jean-Luc back to the bungalow. Really, after having fucked the guy, and spent a week with him in the middle of nowhere, hanging out for an hour in his office should be no big deal.

Jean-Luc scurried off to do whatever it was an assistant to Kirk and Spock did, while Kirk and McCoy sat down in his office and busied themselves for a few minutes with the usual checking of emails and messages that happens after a meeting.

"So I looked up your IMDB," McCoy said.

"Oh?" Kirk asked. "Find anything interesting?"

"I did, actually. A camera credit from when you were thirteen? On an Oscar-winning documentary?"

"You never heard that story?"

McCoy shook his head.

"Back when Chris Pike was an independent producer, he worked on a doc about the last men who died in Vietnam. One of them was my father, so he came out to Riverside to interview Winona and my grandfather Tiberius about him."

"Your father died in Vietnam?" McCoy asked. "But you couldn't have been more than—"

"Two days old," Kirk said. "Mom got a call through to him the day after I was born, and they named me and stuff, and then the next day he was shot down over Saigon. He was a pilot, giving air cover to the evacuation."

"Wow, Jim," McCoy said. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Jim replied. "So growing up without a dad, I was already a bit of a handful at the time, but seeing these guys show up with cameras and lights and all that, I'd just stand there and stare."

"I can just see you," McCoy said.

"I know, my eyes must have been _huge_. So Pike handed me a camera and told me to get some shots of the farm and the fields for them to edit in. Some of that b-roll footage made the cut and I got a credit." He smiled. "And then for a while after I got out of high school I was running around getting into some trouble, so I sent him a letter and asked him how to go about getting an actual job as a cameraman and he said, why don't you come out here and learn how to make your own movies." Kirk turned and picked up a small movie camera that sat on a table behind his desk. "Still have the camera he gave me, when they were done filming my mom. It's a relic now, but, I dunno, it's kinda cool." He set it down and McCoy noticed just above it on the wall was pinned a rubbing of George Kirk's name, likely from the memorial wall in Washington.

"It is cool," McCoy said. "It lets you go to Spain on vacations."

"Yeah, I usually go to Costa del Sol for a break after we've finished promoting a film," Kirk said. "Recharge, all that."

"So ordinarily, you'd be there now," McCoy said.

"It's only for a week," Kirk said, shrugging. "This year I went to Iowa and Georgia instead. Not such a bad tradeoff, really."

Spock walked back into the office then.

"Hey," Kirk said. "More money stuff?"

"I'm sorry?" Spock asked.

"With Uhura."

"Oh, yes," Spock said, nodding. "Making sure that Scotty's last few requests can be covered."

"How are we doing?" Kirk asked.

"We are well within parameters," Spock said.

"You make it sound like a machine instead of a movie, Spock," McCoy said.

"I have often felt that a production is not unlike a very complicated mechanical system, such as a submarine or a ship," Spock replied. "A careful balance of forces, enough give and take to allow for unexpected circumstances, and the ship stays afloat."

"This is a creative medium, Spock," McCoy said, "not a damn machine."

"The more smoothly running a production, the more emotional energy appears on screen, where it belongs, and not wasted behind the scenes," Spock replied.

"You're not gonna win this one, Bones," Kirk said, "but if it makes you feel any better, he's never actually achieved that. At least, not with Carol around."

"It is true that Carol is very … _excitable_ ," Spock said.

"I think you mean stubborn and prone to tantrums, Spock."

"Perhaps," he replied. "I am surprised, Leonard, at your outlook. Were you not a producer for some time?"

"I was," McCoy said, "and we did keep a pretty loose set, but then, there's a lot of routine in television, especially a sitcom."

"I am afraid I am not a regular television viewer," Spock said. "Could you remind me of the premise of your show?"

McCoy allowed himself a small smile. "I'm sure Kirk could do that for you," he replied. "After all, he's read all the scripts, and I'd be interested to hear what he made of them."

"Geez, it's like an oral exam," Kirk said, but then plunged ahead. " _Three to Tango_ is one of those '90s young people in the city sitcoms about three dancers who share an apartment in New York. Zach is big-hearted and goofy; Chris is intellectual and a little full of himself; Zoe is no-nonsense and ambitious. The kinda big deal about it at the time was that Chris is gay and Zoe is black. Good so far?" he asked.

"You're doing fine," McCoy replied, nodding.

"Anyway," Kirk went on, "as the show opens they've all just graduated from the same school and are dancing at a ballet company in New York. Partway through the first season Chris gets injured, which turns out to not be all bad because he falls for his orthopedic surgeon, Karl, and decides to quit the ballet company to dance on Broadway. Gotta say, McCoy, pretty ballsy to change the set-up in the first season."

McCoy shrugged. "It was always part of the outline," he said. "Remember, this was before _Will & Grace_, even before _Ellen_ 's Puppy Episode, and having a gay main character running around dating was too much for the network. Puri had to sell it in as an adorable love story, and that Chris and Karl would be settled and monogamous for the duration of the show."

"That is unsurprising, unfortunately," Spock said. "Continue."

Kirk nodded. "Zach and Zoe become frequent pas de deux partners and rise to become stars of the ballet company. Then in the last episode of the fifth season, Chris moves in with Karl and Zach and Zoe finally get together, and stay together for the last two seasons. The movie, _Tango at the Wedding_ , is about Chris and Karl's wedding, and at the end of the movie Zach asks Zoe to marry him." Kirk paused, then turned to McCoy. "Did I miss anything?" he asked.

"No, you hit all the high points," McCoy said.

"Krish Puri was the creator and executive producer I believe?" Spock asked.

"He was, and my mentor as well," McCoy said. "I was a writer, only my second job, but eventually I became a producer and by fifth season I was the show runner."

"And Puri died after that season?"

"Yep," McCoy said, tapping Kirk's desk with his middle finger. "I took over, saw the show through, and wrote the script for the movie."

"I recall there was a good deal of praise for you, in taking over for Puri and managing so well under such difficult circumstances," Spock said.

"Well, like I was saying, you gotta have some feel for the emotions of the crew," McCoy replied. "They were running pretty high, and we just found a way to channel them back into the work."

At that moment Kirk's phone rang. McCoy welcomed the interruption; he wasn't fond of talking about those days after Puri died.

"Yes, Uhura?" Kirk said. "Let me check—yeah, Thursday is fine. … I say let him pick; if he's on home turf maybe he won't be too defensive. … Exactly. Okay, great, thanks." He hung up the phone.

"Khan?" Spock asked.

Kirk nodded.

"If he's taking the initiative, maybe he's softened a bit," McCoy said.

"I hope so," Jim replied. "Well, this project is all about pushing me out of my comfort zone, right?"

"You did say you wanted a new challenge," Spock said.

"Famous last words," Kirk replied.

* * *

  
McCoy had meant to contact Kirk on Thursday afternoon, to find out what happened with his lunch with Khan and Uhura, but Kirk texted him before he had the chance.

>   
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  so that happened.
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  How did the lunch go? is Khan still angry?
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  it was weird. he doesn't seem angry.
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  Maybe he didn't want to look like an ass in front of Uhura?
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  maybe. definitely the right call to bring her. she kept things calm
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  Glad you and she are figuring yourselves out
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  so is spock. anyway khan wants the part.
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  He have interesting ideas about it?
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  yeah actually. so much that I think we have to use him.
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  Have to? Still up to you, jim
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  uhura says yes.
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  What do you say? Think you can work with him?
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  I think you don't get your statue taking the easy way, is what I think
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  Doesn't mean you have to make things hard on yourself.
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  true. though that often ends up happening.
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  So he has good ideas? Is he the guy?
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  yeah. yeah I think he's the guy. or I'll make him the goddamn guy.
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  Ha that's the spirit.
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  you ready to do this, bones?
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  You bet I am.

* * *

  
Kirk decided that they should all go out one night before heading to Georgia, some kind of group bonding thing. Khan begged off, surprising no one, but Gaila and Chekov joined the crew for sushi that, Kirk insisted, would be followed by salsa dancing. McCoy couldn't quite imagine Kirk out on the dance floor, but he was certainly looking forward to seeing that.

And so the next Saturday night found them in a private room at some high-end sushi place, all around one of those low tables with the cut out beneath (which McCoy was thankful for, his knees not being what they once were) and making their way through an enormous platter and a rather large bottle of saki. McCoy found himself seated between Kirk and Gaila, Scotty opposite. These bonding dinners were apparently nothing new, and Scotty had a firm idea of what stories needed to be told to the new people, which reminded McCoy of the "fraternity history" portion of pledging at Ole Miss, only even more drunken. But there was a piece of Kirk-lore that he didn't have the entire story of.

"Okay Scotty," McCoy said. "Tell me how he got the nickname 'Cap.'"

Kirk groaned, but Scotty beamed. "An excellent story for this occasion, Leonard," Scotty said, "since it has to do with Khan, and the shooting of _Space Seed_. So Khan, being a fan of _Moby-Dick_ , often quoted from the book. He liked Ahab, and so tried to make himself into a bit of a captain. Which annoyed me no end."

"I believe Carol said it made her want to 'kick him in the teeth,'" Spock added. "Luckily the script eventually called upon her to do so, albeit to his stunt double rather than Khan himself. That said, she did play those scenes with rather more gusto than usual—a very good conduit for her personal antipathy."

"Be that as it may," Scotty continued, "I felt that if anyone on set was the captain of the ship it was James Tiberius Kirk, not Khan Noonen Singh. So at the wrap party I recited a poem that made that clear."

"But also implied that I had _died_ ," Kirk said.

"It was stirring!" Scotty said.

"You recited a Whitman poem?" McCoy asked. "Really?"

Scotty stood up from the table, one arm extended, the other across his chest, and began to recite in a melodramatic nineteenth century manner, each "for you" punctuated by a gesture toward Kirk:  


>   
> _Rise up—for you the flag is flung for you the bugle trills,_   
> _For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths for you the shores a-crowding,_   
> _For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning_   
> _O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;_

  
Scotty stopped suddenly. "It's all blood after that," he said, and sat back down to much applause and laughter from the table.

"After that we started calling him Captain, or Cap," Sulu said, "and it stuck."

"It's better than 'fearless leader', which is what they called me before," Kirk said. He was smiling, clearly pleased despite his protests. "But I appreciate the loyalty."

"You've always been loyal to us, Cap," Scotty said.

Sulu raised his glass. "To the captain!"

Everyone followed—even, McCoy noticed, Uhura. Kirk smiled even wider, and raised his glass. "And a better crew I could not have," he said.

The table broke up into smaller conversations after that, and Kirk leaned in to whisper to McCoy, "You don't have to call me that, Bones, if you don't want to."

"No?" McCoy asked, smirking.

"Nah. I mean, Spock only uses it when he's feeling particularly pissy."

"Well," McCoy replied, "I'll keep that in mind." He glanced around the table and noticed that Sulu and Chekov seemed friendly. He leaned over to Kirk. "Say, what's going on there?" he whispered.

Kirk looked up. "Chekov helped Sulu with some camera tests," he replied. "I'm glad they're talking; Sulu tends to get tongue-tied around actors—even Carol. But he wants to direct someday and you can't direct if you can't work with actors."

McCoy nodded. "Chekov seems like a nice enough kid."

"That kid is a pro, Bones."

"That _kid_ is less than four years older than my daughter, Jim."

"Point," Kirk said.

* * *

  
McCoy wasn't familiar with the club Kirk had selected, but then it had been a long time and salsa clubs were not generally long-lived. It certainly had all the markers of a club-of-the-moment, with lots of young people, a hot band, a line out the door, and a VIP section reserved by Kirk. Since there weren't many women among them McCoy was happy to sit and watch; maybe it was the presence of Chekov but he was feeling just a little old, suddenly, remembering when he and Jocelyn had been as young as the couples on the floor that looked like kids to him now.

Kirk, naturally, had other ideas. "I want to see everyone out on that floor!" he shouted as the drinks came. "That includes you, Spock."

"We shall see," Spock replied.

"Well, I'll get us started," Kirk said, standing. "Miss Uhura?" he asked, holding a hand out to her.

Uhura smiled. "Why not?" she said, and followed Jim onto the floor. Scotty and Gaila soon joined them.

"I don't know," Sulu was saying. "I've never danced like this before."

"It's easy!" Chekov declared. Up close, he was even more eyes and hair than on television, and McCoy frankly hadn't thought that possible. His head full of light brown curls and big blue eyes screamed barely legal, and McCoy was glad Kirk hadn't taken it into his head to go to some gay dance club; it would have taken all of them to keep the wolves away.

"It doesn't _look_ easy," Sulu replied.

Chekov jumped up. "Here, I will show you," he said, moving the empty chairs out of the way and pulling Sulu out of his.

McCoy turned away, so he wouldn't be making Sulu even more self-conscious, and looked out on the floor. Scotty and Gaila were game beginners, getting the hang of the dance pretty quickly, and were at least able to move around on the floor without getting in anyone's way. Kirk was pretty good, of course; McCoy suspected that Kirk didn't suggest activities that he didn't excel at. But his style was more cowboy manly than Latin _machismo_ —his hips were a little stiff, which wouldn't have been bad in itself except that Uhura's movements were so fluid. It struck McCoy as a bit of a waste.

"Miss Uhura is quite a good dancer, isn't she," Spock said.

"You should ask her to dance, when Jim's through," McCoy replied.

But when the song ended it was Gaila who claimed Spock for her next dance, giggling all the while, and that was probably for the best as Gaila and Spock were old friends and she might loosen him up a bit. So it was McCoy who led Uhura back out onto the floor.

"Wanna show them how it's done?" he asked her.

She gave him an appraising look. "All right," she said.

Salsa dancing was like riding a bike, all the old moves still in his muscle memory, though Uhura's style was different enough from Jocelyn's to prevent flashbacks. As he spun her across the floor he was very much in the present, and if he was showing off a little, well, there was nothing wrong with _that_. And it was just fun; he realized he hadn't been out dancing like this since the divorce. He was probably grinning like a damn idiot. Uhura worked out that McCoy knew what he was doing pretty quickly, and trusted him to lead her in a way she hadn't with Kirk, and by the end of the song they'd pulled off some pretty complicated moves and gotten impressed looks from the regulars.

He brought Uhura back to the table after one song; after all, she'd barely been able to enjoy a cocktail. Kirk, predictably, was all over him.

"Where did you learn how to dance like that?" he asked, wide-eyed.

McCoy felt all kinds of smug, but tried not to show it. "What part of 'my ex-wife was a dancer' do you not understand, Jim?" he asked, signaling for the waitress.

"Just because she danced doesn't mean you did," Kirk replied.

McCoy shook his head. "And let someone else dance with her all night, especially like _that_?" he asked. "No way. If someone's with me, they're with _me_."

"I'll keep that in mind," Kirk said, grinning.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, McCoy had a vision of Jim Kirk in his arms on the dance floor so strong that it made his heart race. He could almost feel Kirk's body under his hands as he led him through the dance, getting his hips to sway just ... like ... _that_.

"Bones?" Kirk asked. "What is it?"

McCoy blinked, realizing he'd been staring at Kirk. "Oh, nothing," he replied quickly, looking around the table for a distraction. "Where's Sulu and Chekov?" he asked.

"Gaila's got Sulu," Kirk said, "and Chekov was going to—uh oh, I guess someone found him."

McCoy saw Chekov being pulled onto the floor by very determined woman who was not inclined to let Chekov lead. It wasn't the usual thing, but at least she knew what she was doing. Chekov went along, though not much was being asked of him other than to be a body she could hang onto, but he didn't seem to mind. At the end of the song she moved in for a kiss, but Chekov very gracefully turned his cheek to her, then pulled away to drop a kiss on the woman's hand.

"What did I tell ya, Bones?" Kirk said. "The kid's a pro."

"Yeah," McCoy said. "Guess we don't need to worry about _him_."

They practically closed the club, staying until two a.m. As they stood at valet parking waiting for cars to come around, Kirk said, "Hey Bones, did you notice that the only one of us who didn't dance with Uhura was Spock?"

"Huh," McCoy said. "I didn't."

"Weird. I thought they were really getting along." Kirk shrugged. "Well, I'll see you at the airport in a week."

"Yeah," McCoy replied. "Wow, this is really happening."

Kirk clapped him on the shoulder. "Of course it's happening, Bones! What did you expect?"


	6. Point of No Return

  
At the exact midpoint of your screenplay, your hero must fully commit to her goal. Up to this point, she had the option of turning back, giving up on her plan, and returning to the life she was living at the beginning of the film. But now your hero must burn her bridges behind her and put both feet in.

Nothing was working.

Kirk sat in one of the chairs in his hotel room, jiggling his knee. A drink wouldn't do, as he wanted to be clear-headed for the start of shooting the next day.  He'd already worked out, already tied up lingering loose ends, already gone over the schedule.  And he knew this wasn't about anything other than the usual fear of failure, exposure as a fraud, all the nonsense that, come tomorrow, would melt away, and he would walk onto the set in the morning completely self-assured and in command, like every other movie he'd made.

He just had to get through tonight.

Kirk managed to kill twenty minutes playing a game on his phone, but games were for when he _wanted_ to think, not when he desperately didn't.  He'd thought that his problem was that he'd eliminated his usual means of allaying the pre-opening-night jitters, but he'd masturbated an hour ago and that didn't help either.  He wished he'd thought to bring some fashion mags, like Carol always did.  They'd lie in bed flipping through _Vogue_ and _GQ_ UK and talk about what they'd wear to the premiere.

When he started wishing he had some cigarettes, he hopped up, grabbed his room key, and got out.  It wasn't that late—only about nine—so he thought he'd take a walk to work off some of his nervous energy.  This didn't explain why his feet took him as far as three doors down the hotel hallway and stopped, but he knocked on the door before he could think about it too much.

The door swung open and McCoy gave him a confused look.  "Hey Jim," he said. "Come on in."

"Thanks," Kirk replied, and joined McCoy in front of the TV. "What are you watching?"

"Joss.  Well, actually some dancers on a television show doing her choreography.  That's why she can stay in LA with Jo while I'm gone this summer, because she got this show."

"Oh," Kirk said.  "If I'm interrupting—"

"Nah," McCoy said.  "Unless you hate dance, which I suspect you don't.  It's the opening number; we don't have to watch the rest of the show."

"Okay, cool," Kirk replied, sinking down into a chair and trying to seem relaxed, though if McCoy's sidelong glance was any indication he wasn't fooled for a minute.

The credits started, some kind of percussive music with silhouetted dancers flashing across the screen.  The show cut to the dancers posing on a stage while the crowd cheered, and then the music kicked in, R&B pop by the girl of the moment.  The dance itself was upbeat and full of energy and the dancers seemed to be having fun even though their movements required precision and timing.  It was—well, it was exactly what McCoy had described his ex-wife doing, the kind of dance seen in pop videos, only without a star to center it around the movements were freer, more about the group.  When the dance ended the host emerged from backstage—a giraffe of a girl, all long blonde hair and legs—and shouted out her thanks to "Jocelyn Darnell!"

The camera cut then to a woman sitting in the audience who must be Jocelyn.  Kirk had had a hard time picturing her, as Joanna so strongly favored her father, but he hadn't expected a Hitchcock blonde, the kind of woman who was a lot of fun right up until the moment she was no fun at all.  "Wow, she's really hot, Bones."

"Yeah, she is," he said absently as he typed on his iPhone.

"You said you grew up with her—how old were you when you met?"

McCoy finished up his typing and set the phone down.  "We met the day she came home from the hospital, when I was ten weeks old.  Jo has a picture of it in her room.  I guess we imprinted on each other.  You know, like ducks."

"That's so Jack and Diane."

"Yeah, except that we hated this stupid little town and couldn't wait to get out and never go back.  And yet here I am."  He chuckled softly.  "So, what did you need, Jim?"

Kirk thought about lying or evading, but he was too tired and too anxious to think of anything, or to deal with McCoy's sarcasm about it.  "Oh, you know," he said, smiling a little.  "Last-minute jitters."

McCoy nodded.  "I'd think you'd go to Spock about this.  You've been working with him a long time."

"Long enough not to go to him," Kirk replied.  "He's my best friend, but comforting he is not.  He just sits there, impassive, and says I'm being illogical."

"So what do you usually do?"

"Fuck Carol," Kirk replied.  "Well, I spend time with Carol, which includes fucking, among other things."  Kirk figured McCoy didn't need to know about the fashion mags, at least right now.

McCoy looked at him, head cocked, considering, and it was all Kirk could do not to fidget under his gaze.  "Well, Jim," he said at last, "since I'm pretty sure you didn't come here to fuck _me_ , let's try something else."  He stood up and walked over to his bag, from which pulled a deck of cards.  "My grandmother used to calm me down with rummy when I was little.  Distracted me from my worries.  You play?"

"Of course," Kirk said, and sat down at the little corner table opposite him.  "So you were a worried kid?"  Kirk could just picture a little McCoy scowling away.

"Gran calls me 'fretful,'" McCoy replied, shuffling the cards. "Says I came out of the womb that way.  But I bet you aren't."  He handed the deck to Kirk to cut, then took it back and began to deal.

"Not when I can _do_ things.  When the pre-pro is finished but filming hasn't started, or the film is done but hasn't been released yet, that's when I worry."

McCoy looked up at Kirk through his eyebrows.  "So the entire month that I've known you, you've been worried about one thing or the other."

"I guess?  But the pre-pro distracted me from worrying about _Armageddon_ 's numbers, so."

"So," McCoy replied, setting down a run of hearts.  "So you dated Edith?"

Apparently McCoy had decided to distract Kirk with talking about girls.  "Yeah.  Smart lady.  I think I got her on the rebound from you, actually."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, sometimes she'd mention a writer she'd dated who'd dumped her for her own good?"

McCoy chuckled.  "I know, it sounds like it's-not-you-it's-me bullshit—"

"That's what I told her," Kirk said.

"But at the time we were together I really had no business dating anyone because I was so unhappy.  Failed pilots, and I wasn't seeing Jo as much as I wanted to."

"She didn't live with you then?" Kirk asked.

"No.  I hadn't gotten into the script doctoring business yet.  And I was still angry at myself for losing Joanna and pushing her mother away.  But I got my life under control eventually.  Edith helped, though I think she saw me as some kind of project."

"Me too," Kirk said.  "Reform the bad boy.  She wanted to get married, I didn't, so she moved to New York."

"That's the thing: you help a sick animal, it's not gonna stick around.  She got me through the worst of it, but I wasn't very fair to her.  I guess I wanted her to heal me."

"Gotta heal yourself," Kirk said, grabbing the six of clubs McCoy discarded to lay down a set.

"Pretty much," McCoy agreed.  "So it's true, you really have had a different girl for each movie you've made?"

"I guess," Kirk replied, noting again how McCoy would change the subject whenever a conversation touched upon that time right after his divorce.  "I'm not fantastic at keeping track."

McCoy put down another set, and now had only one card in his hand. "Well, there's Gaila."

" _Kobyashi Maru_ , yeah."

"And then the Bibi Besch movies—and I'll say up front, I know them all in order because of Jo."

"Duly noted."

"So. _What Are Little Girls Made Of_?"

"Carol."

"Of course.   _Balance of Terror_ , your assistant who married Khan."

"Marla."

" _Space Seed_ , Edith.   _Specter of the Gun_?"

"Lenore."

"Oh, god, I remember that—you two got a lot of press."

"Yeah," Kirk said, scrunching up his nose.  "Me and the paps don't exactly get along.  Luckily I've stopped being all that interesting and can go to the Coffee Bean in peace again."

"I remember seeing photos of you giving them the finger," McCoy replied.

"Lenore fed off the attention," Kirk said, shrugging.  "And she was brilliant in the film as a witness Bibi protected.  I guess I ended up wanting to protect her too."

"Gotta heal yourself," McCoy said.

"Yeah.  I hear she's back in rehab now, but with a father like Karidian—"

"You knew her father?" McCoy asked.

"He was one of my professors at USC.  If he liked you—and he liked me, thought I was the future of film or something—then you were _in_.  He'd throw little dinner parties at his house, introduce you to important people.  But if he didn't like you, he could make things pretty tough.  It took me a few months to realize what he was doing."

"Which was?"

"Let's just say," Kirk said, "that he loved me, would probably like you and Chekov, didn't care much for Spock, and would have hated Uhura or Sulu."

McCoy made a face.  "Seriously?  In this day and age?" he asked. "Hell, in _Los Angeles_?"

"I know, right?  When I figured it out I kept bringing students in the program he expressly didn't invite as my guests.  Kinda pissed him off but I didn't really care.  He's not there now, anyway. Students started comparing notes and he was brought before the disciplinary committee."

"I bet you were one of those students 'comparing notes,'" McCoy said.  "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you started it."

"Well," Jim said.  "I had a role," he said, laying down another run.

McCoy grunted, then looked at what Jim had done.  "Aha!" he said. He picked up a card, laid down what was in his hand on Jim's run, and discarded.  "Out!"

They tallied up, then Kirk took up the cards and shuffled.  "The odd thing was, when Lenore came to audition for me, I didn't know who her father was.  Didn't make the connection until we were trying to get her into rehab.  He refused to believe his perfect little girl needed some help.  And after he died she really lost it.  It's too bad; she's a talented girl."

McCoy shook his head.  "People keep circling back into your life, Jim.  Pike, Karidian, now Khan."

"Well at least Pike likes me," Kirk replied.

"Khan will," McCoy said.  "How can he resist all that charm?"

"Uhura does a good job of it," Kirk said.

"You trying to make her the girl of this movie?" McCoy asked.

"No means no, Bones," Kirk replied.  "I mean, I would?  She's the type who forces you to be a better man by the power of her stony disapproval.  I do like a challenge."

"That's obvious," McCoy said.

"But she's not interested.  And anyway, no fling this film.  Or, my fling will be the film."

"You really think you can do that?" McCoy asked.

"Gonna try," Kirk said.  "It's just—there's enough on my plate, with out that.  And Miri was a huge mistake.  A real wake-up call.  I can 't be running around like this anymore.  I don't even want to."  He paused.  "Besides, gotta do right by you, Bones."

McCoy looked up and their eyes met and held, long enough that Kirk started to wonder if they really _were_ going to fuck.  After all, here they were in his room, and Kirk had come unannounced, and he still wasn't exactly sure why his feet had led him here.  For all his protests of not having a girl-of-the-movie, McCoy was the last person he'd fucked, and Carol wasn't here.  Kirk bit his lip.

Then McCoy said, "Thanks, Jim.  But I wouldn't be here if I didn't think you were the man for the job."

Kirk grinned, relieved and just a little disappointed at the same time.  "Thanks, Bones," he said.

"So," McCoy said, his attention back on the game, "if you're this serial monogamist with a woman for every movie, how do you find time to fuck half of West Hollywood?"

"Word is _exaggerated_ ," Kirk replied.  "I've maybe seen two or three guys in the last few years.  And anyway you can be bisexual and be monogamous."

"I know that.  Hell, I used to be _married_."

"Oh, right.  Sorry.  Well, I won't date most actors, because of all the sneaking around and the hiding and the closet bullshit.  I get why they feel they have to do it, but I am _uninterested_. So that lets out men I meet on set.  I mean, I'm not going to date someone on the crew; I'm their boss."

"Hence fucking Sulu."

"Hence fucking Sulu, exactly.  And since the Bibi Besch movies took off honestly I don't meet that many other people.  I dated a guy at USC, though."

"A fellow film student?"

" _No_ ," Kirk said, flatly.  "Two directors?  It's like two tops bumping against each other."

McCoy cocked his head.  "Gotta say, Jim, you don't strike me as being _that_ much of a top."

Kirk rolled his eyes.  "It was a metaphor.  Anyway no, Gary Mitchell was at the law school.  Great guy; we had a lot of fun.  He's my lawyer now, actually."

"Convenient," McCoy said.  "But you do seem to stay friendly with your exes."

"Says the man who just watched a reality show to support his ex-wife," Kirk replied.

"Touché.  So it didn't work out?"

"Gary saw no reason why being gay meant he had to give up on his white picket fence dream of a future and while I agreed, I was never going to be that guy.  He got it, though—lives in the valley, had a couple of kids through a surrogate.  His husband is a painter he met through Janice Rand."

"No white picket fences for you?"

"Probably not," Kirk replied.  "Though I have to say, it doesn't look too bad on you."

McCoy smiled.  "Thanks.  Feeling better?" he asked.

"Yeah, actually," Kirk replied.  "Guess your Gran is on to something with this rummy thing."

"Good," he said, "because I won again."  He laid down several cards.

"Geez, Bones," Kirk said.  "You're a secret card sharp, aren't you? This is all a con!"

McCoy waggled his eyebrows and chuckled.  "And what if it is?"

* * *

  
Kirk walked on set in the morning as confident as anything.  McCoy had been right—playing cards worked as well as anything else had, plus he'd gotten more sleep than usual.  He'd already been on set the day before, checking out the work that Scotty had done—amazing, as always—and still couldn't quite believe that they'd ended up in McCoy 's actual house.  But McCoy was as good as his word, giving it to them for cheap, and when a film's budget was fifteen million every penny counted.

He rode to the set with Spock, as he always did, chatting in the car about the shooting schedule—ambitious but Kirk was pretty sure they could do it as the set ups were simple and the actors had the benefit of a whole two week's rehearsal back in LA.  Spock was a little worried, but then, that was his job.  Jean-Luc was there, too, taking copious notes as usual.

When they arrived Kirk noticed McCoy standing at the craft service table talking to Uhura.  Kirk was glad to see she was wearing the usual set gear of jeans and a t-shirt under a very large flannel shirt.  Her hair was up in its usual ponytail, but the effect was sporty rather than severe.  She didn't even scowl as she said good morning, so maybe she was warming up to him a little.

"Hey, forgot to say last night—" Kirk began.

McCoy turned to Uhura.  "We were playing cards."

"Rummy," Kirk added, "and that isn't even a euphemism."

Uhura picked up a peach. "Whether it is or not isn't really any of my business," she said.

"Anyway," Kirk continued, "I meant to say, if Spock orders everyone to clear the set, you stay."  He put a hand on McCoy's shoulder. "Don't go unless I ask you to go."

McCoy nodded.  "Okay," he said.

"Um, you too, Uhura," Kirk added.

Uhura crossed her arms.  "You don't have to—"

"No, I mean it," Kirk said, suddenly realizing that he actually did.  "Stay unless I tell you otherwise."

She looked at him, assessing, and then nodded.  "All right."

Kirk rested his other hand on her shoulder.  "Great!" he said, grinning.  "Because we're a team, right?"

"Yep, Jim, we're a team," McCoy said.  "Now go run off your energy someplace useful."

"I'm on it!" Jim said, fake-saluting as he walked away toward the makeup trailer, where Chekov and Gaila were getting ready.

"Hello, Captain!" Chekov said, grinning.  He'd picked up the nickname from Sulu and was always gleeful in his use of it, as though it meant he was part of a secret club or something, though with Chekov's slight accent it came out sounding more like "keptin."

"Pavel," Kirk said, shaking his hand firmly.  If the kid—hell, he couldn't think of him as that; it sounded like something McCoy would s ay—had taken the role to make the transition from child to adult act or, then Kirk figured the best way to talk to him was man-to-man as much as possible.  Even if Kirk was almost old enough to be his father.

He gave Gaila a big hug.  She looked downright formidable in her nurse whites, her hair in a severe bun.  "Well, are you a nice nurse or a naughty nurse?" he asked.

"Jimmy!" Gaila giggled. "We have to be serious; we're the grown-ups."

"I am also a grown-up!" Chekov protested.

"Oh Pavel," Gaila said, resting her hand on his, "I didn't mean that!  I meant that when Jim and I met, he was the AD and I had a small role, so we could fool around.  You're the lead; of course you're one of the grown-ups."

"Well, now that we have that figured out," Kirk said, "are you two ready?  We'll probably call you in about twenty."  He cocked his head and looked at Gaila.  "Are you wearing makeup?" he asked.

She nodded.  "It takes a lot of makeup to make you look like you're not wearing makeup."

"Hmm.  Come outside?"  He led her outside the trailer into the natural light.  "No, no, I don't like it."  He looked up at the makeup artist leaning out the doorway of the trailer.  "Can we take all of this off and just give her a little powder or something?" he asked.

"Of course," the woman replied.

Gaila's eyes flew open.  "Oh, I don't know …"

Jim set down his clipboard and put his hands on Gaila's upper arms. "Gigi, you took this part because it _isn't_ a glamour role. There're plenty of scenes in _Bread and Circuses_ where you're half-naked to put on your reel."

"I know," Gaila said.  "It's just—sometimes there's problems with color balancing."

Jim squinted, scrutinizing her skin.  "Okay, so you're a little sallow, but that's nothing we can't light just fine.  Trust me, Sulu and Scotty would never allow even one frame that isn't gorgeous."

She smiled a little.  "You talk like it's their movie more than yours," she said.

"Sometimes I wonder," Kirk replied.  "I just tell them where we're headed, and they get us there.  If it doesn't work, we can always go back to what you've got now.  It's fine, it just isn't perfect."

"Okay, Jim," she said.  "I trust you."

"Fantastic!" Kirk said, smiling broadly.  "Okay, I'll see you both shortly."

He walked over to where Sulu was setting up the first shot, where Chekov's character Walter comes home from school to find Nurse Rachel, played by Gaila, on his porch.  Jean-Luc was with Sulu, storyboards in hand, and Scotty stood nearby.

"Hey, Cap," Sulu said.

Kirk looked around.  "Light's good," he said.

"Aye," Scotty replied.  "It's a good day for it.   A little fill and we should be fine."

Kirk listened as Sulu took him through the proposed angles for the two-shot and the close-ups, though they were starting with a longer establishing shot of Chekov getting out of his car and walking across the yard.  "You've got it," Kirk replied.  "Let's just make sure we go in pretty tight on Chekov in those close-ups.  It's all going to be in his eyes."

Sulu nodded.  "He can certainly take a close-up," he replied.

Kirk resisted the impulse to raise his eyebrows.  "Yes," he replied, neutrally as he could.  "He's quite a photogenic actor."

Scotty showed no such restraint.  "Skin as tight and soft as a baby's arse," he said.

"I didn't say anything like that," Sulu protested, scowling.

Kirk held up his hands.  "Gentlemen, the task at hand?" he said. "J.L., let's get everyone on set for a moment."

"I'm on it, Cap," he said.

Kirk found his chair and sat down, taking a slug from the water bottle he'd grabbed from the craft service table, and waited for Jean-Luc and the PA's to gather the crew together.  Once they were all in the clearing in front of the house, Kirk stood up and started talking.

"Amazing to see so many familiar faces here," he began.  "This film is a departure for all of us, including me, and I couldn't imagine taking this leap without my crew with me.  But even though the film is different, my way of working isn't, so keep on taking the initiative and asking questions, and we'll all figure it out together like we always do."  He turned and saw McCoy and Uhura sitting together, a few feet back from the camera set up.  "I want to introduce two new members of our crew.  Nyota Uhura is here from Fleet, a studio that's always treated us well, and Leonard McCoy wrote this fantastic script so we thought we'd try something new and have a writer actually on set.  Let's welcome them," he said, leading the crew in a little round of applause.  "Okay, J.L."

While Jean-Luc started the crew moving to the first set-up, Kirk walked Chekov and Gaila through the scene, working out the blocking and getting the marks put down.  As they finished he saw Sulu gesturing to him, and walked back over to the camera.

"Problem?" Kirk asked.

"It's Gaila," Sulu said, gesturing to the camera.  "I can't—look for yourself."

Kirk looked through the lens, then out at Gaila, then through the lens again.  "She's—"

"She's _green_ ," Sulu whispered.  "I've never seen anything like it."

"No wonder she wanted to wear all that make-up," Kirk said.  He called out to Scotty.

Scotty came over and looked into the lens.  "Ah, we can fix that, Cap," he said.  "No problem."

"You're sure?" Kirk asked.

"Positive," Scotty replied. He grabbed O'Brien, the lighting director, and they wandered off in the direction of the equipment trailer, emerging a few minutes later with filters that they affixed to the light focussed on Gaila.

"So it was me," she said, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand.

Scotty smiled at her.  "Don't you worry, lass," he said.  "It's an easy fix.  You should see how we have to light Carol Marcus."  He winked.

Gaila giggled.  O'Brien adjusted the light, then called out, "How's that, Cap'n?"

Kirk took another look.  "Perfect!" he replied.

"See, there you are," Scotty said, patting Gaila's arm.  "Not a thing to worry about."

Gaila smiled broadly and held out her hand.  "Good lighting is an actor's best friend, so thank you, Mr. Scott."

Scotty shook her hand, suddenly looking a little awkward.  "Er—Scotty.  That is, the Cap'n, he calls me Scotty."

"Scotty it is then.  Thank you, Scotty."

Kirk sensed Spock watching over his right shoulder—that was Spock's thing, materializing out of nowhere like a ghost, and Kirk had long since stopped being startled by it.

"It would appear, Jim," Spock said, "that the sexual energy you have denied yourself has spread to the crew."  He nodded at the car, where Sulu and Chekov were talking.

"If that's what keeps us going, it's fine with me," Kirk said, and he was pretty sure he even meant it.

* * *

  
Shooting did go well, for four entire days.  The collaborative spirit from rehearsals and pre-production continued.  Chekov settled into his role and Kirk could see him growing with every take, while Gaila kept the mood light and professional.  McCoy was tweaking dialogue as needed and had revised a few future scenes based on what they'd shot so far.  And Spock was working his usual silent magic, keeping everyone on track and most importantly, on schedule.  Even Uhura seemed pleased.

Kirk was actually looking forward to Khan's arrival.  He'd been remarkably open and present during their weeks of rehearsal, kind to Gaila and treating Chekov like a protege.  With Kirk's enthusiastic endorsement he'd decided to wear his usually dark hair silver for the part, though they would need to hide his muscular physique with wardrobe.  He arrived on the set five days into the shoot, notably free of entourage.

But Kirk had forgotten, in Carol's absence, what that movie star aura was like.  (Chekov wasn't quite there yet, though Kirk knew it was only a matter of time.)  Khan smiled, shook hands, asked the name of every person on the crew, working the room like a pro.  But there was something just a little different in Khan's affect from the way he'd behaved in rehearsal, and Kirk couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Then they got to work.  Kirk had to give Khan some credit, as it started slowly and seemingly innocently.  "James, I had a new idea about this scene," he'd say, and Kirk would reply that of course they could do it both ways.  After all, Carol usually knew exactly what she wanted to do, and when they didn't agree they could work it out.  They had time enough for all these alternate takes, and maybe this was just part of the process.  Maybe the rehearsals hadn't gone as well as Kirk had thought, or weren't as useful for the actors as he'd hoped.  Maybe Khan only felt free to express his little, constant dissatisfactions once they were on set, rather than back in rehearsals.

"James, I'm not sure about this shirt."

"James, does the makeup have to make me look quite this sickly?"

"James, don't you think this scene would work better as just a close- up of me?"

It grew to Khan making suggestions to Chekov that conflicted with both what Kirk had said and the work they'd done in rehearsal.  The poor kid was confused: listen to the old pro, or the still-young director?  He was also a sponge, soaking up everything around him, and therefore very suggestible.  Kirk really didn't need Khan being a bug in the kid's ear.  Carol might argue and raise a fuss and be difficult generally, but at least she did it openly.  She never undermined him with other actors; she just stood her ground and had it out with him.  And while their fights were infamous in Hollywood, they didn't actually have more than two or three per movie.  But this—Kirk could feel his control of the production, and worse, his own vision of McCoy's script, slipping through his fingers.

At the end of the fifth day Kirk collapsed onto his bed, too mentally exhausted from the constant chess-playing to even think about preparing for the next day.  Spock had said nothing in the car on the way back to the hotel, but he'd looked concerned.  He had every right to be, as they'd watched the dailies and while what Kirk had wanted was still there, they had a lot more chaff than wheat. The worst thing was, for once Kirk wasn't even sure what to do.

A knock on the door shook him out of his brooding, and he was glad of any company so long as it wasn't Khan.  He opened the door to see Spock, with Uhura and McCoy, all looking pretty serious.  "Hey, guys, come on in," he said, smiling to cover his sudden nerves.

McCoy sat down on the corner of the bed, and as soon as the door shut he said, "What the hell, Jim?"

"Bones?" Kirk replied.

"That Khan is going to steer the goddamned car off the road if you don't do something about it," McCoy continued.

"So you noticed it too?" Kirk asked.  "It isn't just me?"

Uhura nodded.  "I'm sorry for my part in this, Kirk," she said, sitting in the chair opposite Spock.  "Looks like you were right about Khan."

"No," Kirk said flatly.  "You were right, too.  He's perfect for the part, if only he'd _play_ the part instead of playing mind games with me.  In rehearsal he seemed to be the Khan I'd worked with before, but I guess I was fooled."

"When it was a matter of alternate takes, it was not a problem," Spock said, "but now that Khan wishes to interfere with the set-ups we may run into delays that will put us over budget."

"Plus Khan's messing with the kid," McCoy said.  "Ain't fair to him."

"Nor to Gaila," Uhura said.  "You can see how stressed she is, trying to keep her positive energy."

"Fuck." Kirk started to pace in the small open space in the room, trying to think.  He could feel their eyes on him, but it was oddly not uncomfortable at all.  "I just hate pulling rank like this. There's always been another way."

"Demanding the respect due to you isn't pulling rank, Jim," McCoy said.  "Aren't directors supposed to be dictators?"

Kirk wagged his finger.  "I'm a leader, not a tyrant," he said.

"You are the captain on that set, Jim," Spock said.

Kirk looked at them, and it was as though the fog had suddenly cleared.  "That's it," he said, sitting down next to McCoy.  "All this time I've been trying to think about how to go to his room or his trailer and talk to him.  Didn't want to do it in front of everyone, since he already thinks I shamed him in public.  But it has to be on set.  Spock?"

"Yes, Jim?"

"If he starts up with this business tomorrow—"

"When he starts up, you mean," McCoy said.

Kirk nodded to him, smiling a bit.  "When he starts up," he said, "be ready to clear the set on my signal."

"What signal?" Spock asked.

"I don't know yet," Jim admitted.  "But you'll know it when you see it."

"What will Khan have to do?" Uhura asked.

"I don't know that yet either, but _I'll_ know it when I see it.  Trust me?"

"Of course," Spock replied.

"Sure, Jim," McCoy said.

"Uhura?" Kirk asked.

"I've always said it's your set, Kirk," she replied.  "You should do whatever works."

Kirk pressed further.  "But do you think it's a good idea?"

She paused, then said, "I agree with you.  It has to be on set."

"Great," Kirk said, nodding.  "Thanks.  I really appreciate this. All right, let's get some rest.  Tomorrow might be a very long day."

As Uhura and McCoy walked out, Kirk put a hand on Spock's shoulder. He turned.  "Jim, you have a question?"

"Just one," he replied.  "Was this your idea, coming in to see me?"

"I must admit it was not," Spock said.  "I was going to wait to talk to you in the morning, during our ride back to the set.  But when Ms. Uhura and I were discussing the dailies I suggested that she bring her concerns directly to you, and she said that it was McCoy who pointed out to her that something should be done straight away."

"I see," Kirk replied.

"I did not realize that he would be so … emotional."  Spock titled his head slightly, his usual means of expressing slight confused disapproval.

"Come on!  He's a creative, of course he's excitable.  But you have to admit he helped."

"He is an integral part of the team, yes," Spock replied.

Kirk had to laugh at that.  "All right, I'll see you in the morning."

"Yes, see you in the morning, Jim," he said, and left.

Kirk turned to his notes for the next day with renewed energy. Looking at the shooting schedule he pinpointed exactly where the trouble would be, and even though he wasn't sure how he'd react, he had his confidence back and team behind him.  When the moment came, he'd be ready for it.


	7. Complications and Higher Stakes

  
For the next 25% of your story, achieving the visible goal becomes far more difficult, and your hero has much more to lose if she fails.

McCoy and Uhura shared a car to the set as they did every day, but on this morning McCoy couldn't maintain their usual amiable we-are-not-morning-people silence.

"I just wanna know what he's planning. Hell I wish he _had_ a plan."

"Spock is confident," Uhura replied. "He said that whenever Kirk has solicited advice in advance his instincts are unerring."

McCoy chuckled at Uhura's mimicking of Spock's speech. "I'm sure if he wasn't he would have long since stopped working with Kirk. And you seem to be warming up to him."

"Maybe," she said, cocking her head. "I'll admit, he's more serious and thoughtful than he generally comes across."

"I think he likes the smarts to be a surprise," McCoy replied.

The set wasn't tense, but the crew did seem uneasy. McCoy wasn't surprised; they'd probably never seen their "Captain" not completely in control of the proceedings. Kirk and Sulu were talking angles, waiting for the actors. Gaila was perched on her chair sipping coffee, as she wasn't in the scene they were to shoot first. McCoy and Uhura hit the craft service table and then took their own seats, behind the camera not far from Spock; McCoy felt like the three of them were holding their breath.

Even though Khan kept them waiting a good twenty minutes, Kirk didn't send any of the production assistants to hurry him along. He seemed content to wait, keeping the crew loose trading jokes with Scotty until Khan finally arrived, deep in conversation with Chekov.

"James," he said, "Chekov and I have been discussing this scene and have some ideas."

Kirk grinned. "Great," he said. "I'd love to see them. Why don't we start out your way?"

Khan smiled back, self-satisfied. "Lovely," he replied. "How nice to work in such a _collaborative_ environment."

"Isn't it just?" Kirk said. He quickly took them through the blocking and their marks for the camera, and then settled back into his own chair.

They started the scene—a simple one, early in the film, when the son realizes just how physically weak his father has become when he can't hold a plate long enough to dry it. McCoy had written it as a quiet moment when both men were still trying to hide their feelings, and he wondered why Kirk had chosen this scene to just roll over to Khan.

But as soon as Kirk called "action," all was clear. Khan was overacting the hell out of the scene. His hands were visibly shaking, so much that one wondered why Chekov gave him the plates to dry in the first place. When the breakaway plate hit the floor his face crumpled and he cried out.

"Cut!" Kirk shouted. "That was certainly interesting, Khan, but can we make it just a little more internal, take it down a bit?"

Khan nodded. "Of course, James. Anything you say."

"Thank you," Kirk replied.

In the second take Chekov pulled in his reactions somewhat, but Khan's performance remained unchanged. This didn't surprise McCoy; in previous scenes it had taken all of Kirk's persuasive powers to get Khan where he wanted him to go. But Kirk reacted with another smile, restated his direction, and went for a third take.

This time Chekov seemed a bit confused, trying to both follow Kirk's direction and stay in the moment with Khan; McCoy was surprised the kid's head hadn't exploded. He wasn't surprised, though, when Chekov flubbed his line.

Khan's head popped up and his eyes were blazing. "Pavel?"

Chekov looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry. Can we try again?"

Khan stood from where he'd been crouching. "You do know the lines, don't you?" he asked sharply.

"Of course," Chekov said. "It was just one mistake."

Khan started to pound his fist on the kitchen counter. "We cannot achieve our artistic goals, Pavel, unless we are professional!"

At that moment, out of the corner of his eye, McCoy saw a clipboard fly through the air before dropping and skidding on the floor at Khan's feet.

McCoy turned to Kirk, realizing the clipboard had come from him, and saw that he was _furious_ , his hands gripping the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles were white.

Spock cleared his throat. "I believe a break is in order," he said.

Jean-Luc moved quickly. "Okay, clear the set. Everyone off the set, fifteen minutes."

McCoy and Uhura exchanged glances, but decided to take Kirk at his word and stay put. The crew went outside, even Sulu and Scotty. Spock whispered to Gaila, who walked over to Chekov and gently led him off the set. Now it was just the four of them, and Khan, who had not moved.

Kirk sighed and got up from his chair to walk over to Khan. He got right up in the actor's face, nose to nose, and while his voice was soft Khan's mike was still on, so the other three could hear every word through the sound monitor.

"I don't know what kind of bullshit power game you think you're playing," Kirk said, "but you listen to me. You can either fuck this entire thing up, not just for me and Spock but for McCoy and Gaila and Chekov out of some twisted need for revenge, or you can go back to being the actor you were when I first worked with you, the actor you were in rehearsals, the actor who can be a real example to Chekov. Because if you follow me, I can get you that nomination, and we both know that if you're nominated you're going to walk away with that statue. But I can't do that if I'm fighting you the whole way on choices _you know_ are wrong." He stopped and backed off just a bit. "You're a better actor than this, Khan. Instead of getting revenge against me, why don't we both get revenge against everyone who's ever underestimated us?"

Khan was silent for a moment, looking at Kirk, and then his eyes darted away. "I shouldn't have shouted at the boy," he said.

"No," Kirk said. "You shouldn't've."

Khan nodded. "Do you mean that, about the statue?"

"Swear on my mother's grave," Kirk said, raising his hand.

Khan's eyes narrowed. "Isn't your mother still alive?"

"She has a grave," Kirk said. "She's just not _in_ it yet."

Khan's nose twitched, and then suddenly he started to laugh. "All right, James," he said. "You win."

"No," Kirk said. "We win. Everybody wins."

* * *

  
After that the production proceeded relatively smoothly. Not that there weren't unexpected problems to solve and strongly worded disagreements to settle, but the struggles for power were behind them. McCoy marveled at the dailies, at how the style Kirk had perfected in all those action movies translated into an emotionally-driven three-character film. And for his part, Kirk had his quiet confidence back, which bled back into the crew, and inspired everyone to work at the top of their ability. McCoy had led a crew for a long time, and he knew that he'd been a damn good show runner, but he was a writer at heart and happy to return to it. Kirk, on the other hand, was a natural leader, and McCoy could see why Spock, for all their differences in temperament and opinion, had stuck so close for so long.

Spock's shooting schedule was aggressive—it had to be—but over the course of the six weeks they all still had a few evenings off. Mostly they ended up at the kind of group outings that Kirk favored as fostering camaraderie among the crew; one night McCoy took them all to the best barbeque joint in the area. But on this last free night before the final week of shooting, the others were scarce.

"Guess it's just you and me, Bones," Kirk said.

"Looks like it," McCoy said. "Gotta admit, I don't mind being quiet tonight."

"Oh," Kirk replied, his eyes shifting away from McCoy. "Well, I can …"

"No!" McCoy said, a little more forcefully than he meant to, reaching out to Kirk's arm. "No, I meant, we can be quiet together, Jim."

Kirk smiled a little. "I dunno, _Spock_ certainly doesn't think I can be quiet."

"We were plenty quiet in Iowa," McCoy pointed out. "C'mon, let's go for a drive."

Kirk's grin widened. "Sounds good to me."

They signed out a car and McCoy immediately plugged in his iPhone because he didn't trust Kirk with the radio after all that classic rock in Iowa, and he wasn't going to drive around the back roads of northern Georgia listening to Skynard, that was for damn sure. _Fables of the Reconstruction_ might be a little on-the-nose, but he'd listened to R.E.M. while learning his way around these roads as a teenager, so R.E.M. it would be.

Kirk sat in the passenger seat, casual in a white t-shirt, jeans that had come by their tears honestly, and sneakers, a cardigan on his lap. His blue eyes were hidden by dark sunglasses, but he still looked like a movie star with the late afternoon sun setting his blond hair aglow. When Kirk was in motion, or talking—which was most of the time; Spock was right in saying that Kirk found it hard to be quiet—the force of his intellect overrode his looks and McCoy could almost forget about them. But times like now, when that big brain wasn't focused on anything in particular, McCoy found it difficult not to be distracted, weirdly giddy that someone like Jim Kirk had actually been disappointed earlier when he thought McCoy didn't want to spend time with him.

It was strange, because McCoy didn't usually have this reaction around movie stars. In his experience most actors spent a lot of time reminding you of how good looking they were by the way they held themselves, the cock of a head, the placement of a hand—or by self-consciously trying to look like shit so you'd notice that their good looks couldn't be denied. He usually found it amusing, and understandable since in Hollywood good looks were an actor's stock-in-trade; it was just good business on their part to remind you of them. And with them doing all the thinking about them, McCoy didn't have to.

Kirk was another story entirely. It was like McCoy had an extra sense that registered every time Kirk shuffled in his seat, tilted his head, moved in any way. But he could keep that under control, surely.

"You know," McCoy said, figuring talking about it would keep him from brooding over it, "I read that _Vanity Fair_ profile of you—the one where Khan did a number on you—and I remember the writer being confused that you weren't an actor, looking the way you do."

"I know, people say that all the time," Kirk replied.

"He should have spent time with you on set," McCoy continued. "He wouldn't have been confused. I can't imagine you ever letting anyone direct you."

Kirk chuckled. "No," he said. "Plus, I'm a mediocre actor at best. It's a lose-lose, and I'm all about the win-win." He looked out the window. "So, are you taking me to your old teenage hangouts?"

"If you like," McCoy replied, "though you didn't take me to yours, when we were in Iowa. Just the farm and the swimming hole."

"Those were the best places," Kirk replied. "The rest was mostly, 'here's where I got into a fight that time.' Or maybe, 'here's where I met that girl I didn't treat very well.' My happy memories are in California." He turned and looked at McCoy. "But I'd be happy to take you around there sometime."

McCoy smiled. "I'd like that."

"It's a date, then," Kirk said. He cleared his throat. "I mean, not a 'date' date—"

"I know what you meant, Jim," McCoy replied.

Kirk fidgeted a little, then turned up the music and settled back into his seat.

McCoy took them on the most scenic route he knew, and after a bit Kirk relaxed, his shoulders sinking into the seat. They pulled up to McCoy's favorite drive-through fried chicken joint, then drove over to the edge of a nearby lake to eat in the car and watch the waterfowl.

"This was the make out spot, wasn't it?" Kirk asked.

"No, this was the family picnic in the car spot. The make out spot was a clearing down that-away," he said, indicating a dirt road going into the trees.

Kirk nodded. "Spend a lot of time there with Jocelyn?" he asked.

McCoy shook his head. "Dad was kinda lax, and he was out in the afternoons. Why go parking when you can just make out on the living room couch?"

"Luckeeey," Kirk replied.

"I bet you just took girls out to that barn," McCoy said.

"Sometimes," Kirk replied.

"Well," McCoy said, shoving their trash back into the bag, "how do you feel about ice cream?"

"Good," Kirk said. "I know it'll be worth it."

"Great," McCoy replied, mentally slapping himself for forgetting about Kirk's 27 food problems. Then again, Kirk seemed to just _handle_ them without making much drama out of them, like trading his biscuit for McCoy's corn in their fried chicken dinner.

While they drove to the ice cream stand McCoy's R.E.M. playlist flipped to _Life's Rich Pageant_. Suddenly Kirk perked up. "This is a little more lively," he remarked, turning up the volume on "These Days."

McCoy sang along with the chorus; it was one of his favorites, too: _we are young despite the years, we are concern, we are hope despite the times._

"Take this joy wherever you go," Kirk repeated. "I like that."

McCoy nodded, grinning; he loved nothing better than to turn someone on to good music. "Here we are," he said.

They got out of the car and stood in the short line, contemplating ice cream flavors and discussing cone types—Kirk liked sugar cones, while McCoy was a cake cone man—when Kirk noticed something over McCoy's shoulder. "Is that—"

McCoy turned and saw a couple sitting at one of the picnic tables. The woman was laughing, and it took him a moment to realize that it was Spock and Uhura.

"Huh," he said.

Spock was licking ice cream from his lips—raspberry from the looks of it, which would have surprised McCoy if not for the whole jelly donut thing—and Uhura pointed to a spot he'd missed. She swiped away the bit of ice cream, then licked it off her thumb, staring into his eyes the entire time.

"Wow," Kirk said, and he sounded like someone had knocked the air out of his lungs. "Should we—"

"Probably not," McCoy said, and turned back to the flavor board.

They had just got their cones when Spock and Uhura approached them, holding hands. "Hello," Spock said.

"Hello," Kirk said, and they just stared at each other. "Good ice cream."

"Indeed," Spock replied.

McCoy turned to Uhura, hoping to make something more human out of this interaction. "Nyota, how has your evening been?"

"Lovely, Len, thank you," she said, smiling. "And yours?"

"Great," he replied. "A drive, fried chicken, some ice cream. Could do a lot worse."

She looked up at the night sky. "It's a beautiful night," she said. "Haven't seen this many stars in a long time. You must miss it."

"Sometimes, yeah. Sometimes I do." He glanced at Kirk and Spock, who were still just staring at each other, and called it a failed attempt. "Well, you have a nice evening," McCoy replied.

"You too," Uhura said, and started to lead Spock away. "See you tomorrow."

As they sat down at the benches, McCoy said, "Well that wasn't awkward at all. What the hell, Jim?"

"Sorry, Bones," he said. "I've just never known him to date, or even be interested in anyone. I was surprised."

"All appearances to the contrary, he's not a robot," McCoy said.

"I know _that_ ," Kirk said. "I guess I just I assumed he was kinda asexual. I dunno, he's Spock; he does his own thing. Until now, that didn't include girls. Or boys, for that matter." He took a bite of ice cream. "But you know, good for him. If she's what he wants, he should have her."

McCoy cocked his head. "Jealous?"

"Of him? No. I don't think I could deal with Uhura 24/7, to be honest."

"Of her?"

"What? No, I mean, we're not—." Kirk paused and took a breath before speaking again. "Look, Spock is pretty much the most amazing person I've ever met. He's entirely self-contained, like a perfect sphere. He believed in me way before anyone other than Pike did. But there's stuff I'd want from a partner that he can't give me. Which is cool, because he's my best friend. And I'm pretty sure it goes both ways, because I'm not that much like Nyota Uhura. I mean, who knows if he even likes guys, or other ladies for that matter. As Spock might say himself, I lack enough data to come to a conclusion. Right now he's Uhura-sexual. And hey, one person is enough, right?"

McCoy smiled a little. "For most people, yes."

"Be nice!" Kirk replied, wagging his finger. "I'm trying to change that."

"Sorry," McCoy replied, still grinning.

They were quiet, eating, and then Kirk said, "Do you think they think _we're_ on a date?"

"Given that I'm making no move to get that ice cream off your chin," McCoy said, which sent Kirk reaching for a napkin, "nor am I holding your hand, I think probably not."

"You could take me to your make out spot if you wanted to," Kirk said, waggling his eyebrows. "I've got no other plans."

McCoy rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Kirk's energy was mostly invested in the movie, to be sure, but he still made a steady stream of jokey sexual advances toward McCoy. It was like taking one for the team, letting them just roll off his back, especially since he respected that Kirk was serious about not having a fling in Georgia and probably saw McCoy as a safe person to flirt with. Been there, done that. And McCoy himself needed a friend far more than he needed a lover, so Kirk was pretty accurate in his assessment. Still, he hadn't expected that one of his duties on set would be to constantly turn down sexual favors while becoming closer friends with the man every day. It was doing strange things to his ego.

Kirk was quiet on the way home, pensive, and McCoy let him be as they drove along the dark country roads back to the hotel the production had taken over for the duration of the shoot. The weather had cooled down from the heat of the afternoon and they drove with the windows down. It was a comfortable silence, something he hadn't felt with anyone but Joanna since the good days of his marriage. He was damn glad they'd signed out a car with a manual transmission, as he was actively resisting the instinct to reach over and put his hand on Kirk's knee. Not that Kirk wasn't a touchy-feely kind of guy, constantly putting his arm around McCoy's shoulders or a hand at the small of his back, but the knee thing was a little _too_ spousal, like an early fragmentary memory of seeing his parents together in the car when he was a kid. Maybe it was just driving around these hometown roads listening to R.E.M. that was doing it, getting the past all mixed up with the present. He fiddled with the iPhone, switching the music to Death Cab for Cutie, which was much safer. Brothers in a hotel bed, indeed.

"Do they collide?" Kirk asked.

"What?" McCoy replied.

"Shooting stars and satellites, I think," Kirk said.

"Wow, an indie rock reference from James T. Kirk?" McCoy said, smiling, and he could feel the past receding back to where it belonged.

"It seemed appropriate," he said, shrugging. "Anyway, thanks."

"For what?"

"Letting me brood a little."

"I figure it's not every day your best friend gets his first girl and doesn't tell you about it," McCoy replied.

"Yeah," Kirk replied. "Also, I think it was date night tonight and I didn't get the memo. I saw Scotty and Gaila head out together earlier."

"Huh," McCoy said. "Well, we had a good time tonight, didn't we?"

Kirk's slight scowl slowly turned into a smile. "Yeah, we did. Who needs dates?"

"Exactly. Who needs them?"

Though when they got back to the hotel, McCoy did walk Kirk to his room. It just seemed appropriate.

* * *

  
The next morning Uhura stepped into their car and said, "No questions," so McCoy didn't ask any.

But when they got to the set, Kirk made a beeline for them and put an arm around Uhura's shoulders. "So this is the thing," he said, apropos of nothing. "You've struck me as an honorable woman, working with you. And people get their hearts broken all the time, whatever; that's a part of living. But you fuck him over, and I will destroy your life." His mouth was pressed in a firm line, his eyes unwavering. McCoy had seen Kirk determined, but never so damn _sincere_.

Uhura stepped back slightly, to better look Kirk in the eye. "Nothing could be further from my mind," she said.

Kirk nodded. "Good. That's all I wanted to say."

"But thank you," she continued. "I'm glad to know he has such a good friend in you."

Kirk's eyes widened just slightly; he clearly hadn't expected that response. "Well, he does," he replied, and then walked away.

Once Kirk was out of earshot, McCoy couldn't help but chuckle; the entire situation was like being back in high school. Not surprising, since so many movie sets were like summer camp anyway. "You Have Been Warned," McCoy said.

Uhura smiled. "I thought it was kind of sweet," she said.

"You sure you want everything that comes along with that fella?"

"Oh, I can handle Kirk," she replied, waving her hand. "I'm not too worried about that."

"I'm sure you can," McCoy said. "Just, do you want to?"

She looked over at Spock, who was in conversation with Jean-Luc. His eyes met hers and he gave her the tiniest smile McCoy had ever seen on an adult human being, though it was still more smile than he'd ever seen on Spock.

"It's worth it," she said.

* * *

  
The final day of shooting was a pretty simple one on paper—just one scene, of the three characters eating dinner. But dinner scenes were always tricky to shoot, with so many angles, so much coverage, so much continuity to keep track of, which McCoy assumed was why Kirk had left it until last. But Spock mentioned that Kirk always liked to finish a film on an up scene, so that was likely part of it.

It was a happy and loose set that day, showing all the bonding that Kirk had so carefully facilitated, not to mention the undeniable buzz for the wrap party. The parties Kirk threw for the Bibi Besch movies were legendary—even McCoy had heard some stories of them—and he had to admit that he was looking forward to whatever Kirk had up his sleeve for this one. Kirk, unsurprisingly, was entirely silent on the matter, even disingenuous, and kept saying, "I don't know what you mean, Bones! It's just gonna be drinks with some friends!"

And that's how it started—a cookout behind McCoy's house, after which they all headed over to the local honky tonk for more drinks and a good bit of ill-advised karaoke singing from the crew. Then Sulu got up on the stage.

"All right," he said into the mike, grinning. "It's become a tradition—" at that the crowd roared— "so bring up the chair!"

As folks started rearranging furniture, McCoy leaned in to Scotty. "What the hell is he talking about?"

Scotty grinned widely. "So on the first Bibi movie, yeah? Carol had a scene where she was a stripper, and she said the only way she'd do it is if Jim stripped at the wrap party. Of course he did; he never backs down from a dare. Now he does it at every wrap party—it's the highlight."

"So he's going to strip now?" McCoy asked, incredulous.

"Just watch!" Scotty said. "He's got quite good on the pole."

McCoy turned to Uhura, who was standing on the other side of him. "You hear about this?"

She nodded. "Spock prepared me."

"Prepared you?" he asked. "For what?"

"Just watch," she said.

A chair had been brought to the front, and tables cleared back a bit from the stage, which McCoy now noticed did have a pole in the middle of it. Spock sat in the chair, looking a bit resigned.

The music started—Britney Spears, and wasn't that befitting Kirk—and two girls in cowboy hats came sashaying out onto the small stage area and began to dance around. The music paused for an instant before the vocal, and in that moment Kirk swung out onto the stage, also in an entirely ridiculous cowboy outfit, and McCoy wondered, vaguely, how the pants were going to come off.

And then Britney started to sing, and Kirk started to dance.

> _A guy like you should wear a warning_

  
His movements seemed odd until McCoy realized that he wasn't dancing like the go-go boys in West Hollywood—he was dancing like a _female stripper_. He had the hip rolls down, and would occasionally shake his nonexistent tits. Off came the hat, neatly tossed to Spock, and while Kirk was playing to the room, he would look at Spock and mouth the lyrics

> _You're dangerous, I'm lovin' it._

  
McCoy had spent a lot of time watching dancers do pop routines, of course, and Kirk's had to have been choreographed by a pro. He wouldn't give an actual dancer a run for their money, but he seemed to be hitting all his marks. The brown leather vest came off next, then the blue chambray shirt, though he took a lot of care with the snaps. And he did all the silly stripper moves, too, licking his lips and rolling his head around. There was probably a universe in which this was arousing rather than hilarious, but they weren't living in it.

> _It's getting late to give you up_

  
Of course the jeans were pull-aways—McCoy was annoyed with himself for not thinking of that—and now Kirk danced in nothing but blue briefs and a pair of cowboy boots. This led to a good deal of ass shaking, from the girls as well as Kirk, and then he grabbed the pole, flipped himself upside down, and kicked off the boots. McCoy hated to admit it, but he was impressed with the ingenuity and upper body strength if nothing else. Kirk clearly did his pilates.

> _With a taste of your poison paradise_

  
Kirk spent the second chorus on the pole flipping about and gyrating against it. Then when the song hit the bridge for sixteen bars of atonal shrieking, he jumped down onto the floor and gave Spock an actual lap dance. McCoy understood now why Spock had felt the need to "prepare" Uhura, and to her credit she was laughing—she'd clearly have no problem at all dealing with Kirk's antics. Of course Spock remained completely impassive throughout.

> _With a taste of your lips I'm on a ride_

  
Kirk ended his lap dance with an almost-kiss, smack on the beat as Britney began to sing again, and as the music kicked back in he flipped himself back onto the stage to finish his dance. A little more pole work, some winks to the crowd, and then suddenly he was looking right at McCoy.

> _I think I'm ready now_

  
He mouthed the words along with Britney, then tore off his briefs to reveal the g-string underneath, and tossed the underwear to McCoy, who was surprised enough to actually catch them. Kirk winked at him, and all McCoy could think was that the fabric was warm from the heat of his body.

The music finished and Kirk and the girls bowed to the applause and cheers before running off the stage. McCoy wasn't sure what to do with the briefs; it seemed rude to just set them down someplace, so he scrunched them up and shoved them into his pocket.

"Never seen him do that before," Scotty said.

"What, the lap dance?" McCoy asked.

"Naw, he always does that," Scotty replied. "I meant, throwing his pants. He's never thrown his clothes into the crowd or any of that."

"Oh," McCoy said. "Well, he's never had a writer on set before, either."

"That's a true thing," Scotty said, nodding. "Another drink?"

Kirk popped up about ten minutes later, grinning like an idiot of course. "Whaddya think, Bones?" he asked.

McCoy sipped at his bourbon and stared him down, then said, "I think you've got a pretty good choreographer."

"Not as good as your ex," Kirk replied, "but he does a good job."

"Thanks for the present, by the way," McCoy said.

"Anything for you, Bones," Kirk replied, putting his arm around McCoy's shoulders. "But you liked it?"

"You know you were good, Jim," McCoy said. "If you weren't, you wouldn't have done it. You're lucky that Nyota's a good sport."

"Yeah," Kirk said, looking over to where Spock and Uhura were sitting. "I'd kinda forgotten about that until this afternoon, but Spock said he'd talked to her." Kirk shook his head. "I guess things are gonna change."

"Everything changes, Jim," McCoy said, "but don't get too far ahead of yourself. They've only been dating for a few months at the most."

Kirk shook his head. "Spock said it didn't really start until they got to Georgia. So I guess he gets the prize for set romance."

"Then only a few weeks," McCoy said. "Give it time. Everyone will settle into it, and it'll be fine."

"Yeah," Kirk said, nodding. "You're right." He smiled, but he still looked a little uncertain.

The line dancing started after that, and despite Kirk's pleas McCoy flat-out refused. There were many reasons he didn't live in Georgia anymore, and line dancing in a bar was certainly one of them. Chekov was showing Sulu the ropes, just as he'd done on salsa night, and McCoy wondered just what kind of mischief that Charlie X got into that Chekov had learned all these dances. Kirk goofed around with Gaila and some of the other ladies, but after a while he thumped down in the booth next to McCoy.

"Great party," McCoy said.

"Ain't it?" Kirk replied. "Wanted to make sure you weren't getting lonely."

"Nah, not me," McCoy said. "You've got a good crew, James T. Kirk."

"Sure do," Kirk said. "Best in the business. I'm lucky."

McCoy nodded, then held up his glass. "Thanks, Jim, for letting me be a part of it."

"Hey, thank _you_! Without you none of this could have happened. Having you here with us meant a lot, Bones." With that Kirk pulled McCoy into an embrace.

"Well," McCoy said, hugging Kirk back. They relaxed against each other, resting, before reluctantly pulling apart. McCoy blinked and their heads were suddenly very close together. He could smell the liquor on Kirk's breath, and his eyes were startlingly blue and staring into McCoy's own.

The moment passed—McCoy wasn't sure how, exactly—and they pulled back, sitting back against the booth. They were still close, pressed against each other. McCoy felt a little out of breath, as though he'd been running, and he could feel that Kirk was breathing just as fast.

"Hey, Spock!" Kirk called out, as Spock and Uhura walked by their booth. "Sit down, man! Sit down!"

They sat opposite McCoy and Kirk, and to McCoy's eye neither of them looked like they'd been drinking all that much, which he thought was a shame. "Get you something from the bar?" he asked.

"We're all set, thanks," Uhura replied, and sipped from a glass of clear liquid with a lime.

"We were gonna do this tomorrow," Kirk said, "but what the hell, it's a party, right?"

"Do what, exactly?" Uhura asked.

Kirk pointed at her. "Look, we can't change the deal, as you know, though maybe we can sneak you a few points, but Spock and I discussed it and we want to give you exec producer credit. Couldn't have done it without you."

Uhura's eyes widened. "Really?" She turned to Spock. "You don't have to."

Spock shook his head. "It was Jim's idea," he replied. "Though I do agree one hundred percent."

"Well, in that case," she said, smiling, "I accept. Thank you." She reached her hand across the table, and Kirk took it, shaking it firmly.

"Our pleasure, Uhura," he said. "Honestly."

"Please, Jim," she said, "call me Nyota."

Kirk grinned then, broad and bright as the sun. "See?" he said. "We really _are_ a team!"

"Yep, Jim," McCoy said. "We're a team."


	8. Major Setback

  
Around page 90 of your screenplay, something must happen to your hero that makes it seem to the audience that all is lost.

_August, 2008_

"You keep laughing like that," Kirk said, "and I'm going to wonder why I called you."

Carol was unrepentant. "You called me because I'm one of the few people who can handle you when you're like this," she said. "And I'm laughing because when you decided to edit the film yourself, you should have realized that meant you'd be here _by yourself_."

He scowled. "Actually I called because I thought you might want something to do other than _nesting_."

"Nesting is hard work!" she protested. "So is throwing up everything you eat for two months."

"You're done with that, right? Because the bathroom is way down the hall."

"I'm in my twentieth week, Jim. Morning sickness is generally over by now," she said, rolling her eyes. "Oh, which reminds me, here are the proofs." She took a large envelope out of her bag and handed it to Jim.

He pulled out the proof sheets. "Wow, you weren't kidding about the naked," he said.

"I may never have that body again," she said. "I wanted to document it for posterity."

"Of course," he said. "Well, as long as you don't hang them up in your house. That'll scar the kid."

"Thanks!"

"C'mon. No one wants photographic evidence of how hot their _mom_ is."

"Was," she said, and patted her tummy.

"Will be again soon enough, knowing you," he replied. He looked away from the photos at her, and his eyebrows went up. "Really? That's the baby?"

She smiled. "You want to touch it, don't you?"

"Kinda?" he said, giving her his best puppy dog look.

She stood up and lifted her shirt. "Go ahead. The abs are long gone."

"No they're not," he said, shaking his head. He put a hand on the very slight swelling at her abdomen. "Wow. I mean, that's really cool, you know? That there's a little person cooking in there."

"That's such a Jim Kirk way of putting it," she said, sitting down. "Which reminds me, I wanted to ask you something, and you should feel free to say no if you don't want to, but you're the most dependable and take-charge guy I know."

"I so totally am!" he said.

"So I wondered if you'd be my birth partner? You know, like, my coach? Because I don't want my mother in there—"

"God, no," he agreed, because if Carol was a handful, her mother was about five of them.

"And I can trust you to keep a cool head and stay focused and keep me calm."

He smiled. "I'm flattered! Of course I'll do it!"

"Thanks, Jimmy," she said, and they hugged.

"You know, I really admire you," he said. "You wanted a baby and you went right out and got one."

"Well," she said, "I had help. Oh, speaking of going out and getting things, guess who I had dinner with last night?"

"Spock and Nyota, hello, he still tells me everything," he replied. "Well, almost. So what did you think?"

"I like her," she said, smiling. "He's completely whipped, of course. But we always knew he would be."

"I think that was the criteria," he said. "Can you exert your will over me if necessary? Yes? Then you are the girl for me." He smiled. "But it's nice to see him like that. Weird, but nice."

She put a hand on his knee. "You're sure you're okay with it?" she asked. "You two have been living out of each others pockets for years now."

"Yeah," he said. "Lives change, right? Can't pretend you're in school forever. He's got a girl and you're having a baby and I just directed an actually serious movie."

"Do you have a release date yet?" she asked.

He nodded. "Mid-November, after the horror stuff clears. Usual Oscar bait timing. Say, when are you due?"

"Um, early January, but my sisters and I were all early so Mom thinks this baby might be early, too," Carol said. "So be ready to go in December."

"That's fine," he replied. "We should be mostly done with the promotional tour by then."

"Perfect." She sat back in her chair and looked at him, smiling.

"What?" he asked.

"Well?" she asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Carol," he replied, though he had an idea.

"Come on, Jimmy," she said, nudging his foot with her own. "Tell me about that writer of yours. Your emails were full of him and now, nothing?"

"It's not like that," he said, looking down at the floor.

She tried to make eye contact. "But you wish it was?"

"No," he said. "No fooling around on this movie."

"Wow," she said. "I never thought you'd go through with that. So you really only fucked him the one time?"

"Well, technically three times," he said, smirking a little, "but yeah. We're friends. Good friends, though. Went over to his place for dinner the other night."

"Sounds romantic to me."

"Yeah—we sat in the living room with his teenage daughter eating chicken and rice and watching _Gossip Girl_. _Super sexy_! It was fun, though."

"That's … _really_ domestic. And you tease me about nesting!"

"I know, right? I mean, he has a whole _life_. He came back from Georgia and it was right back to the grind for him."

"Yeah, I hear he's much in demand," she said.

"You hear?" he asked.

She huffed. "Okay, so I asked around." At his look she said, "What? If someone's going to get involved with you, even non-romantically, I want to make sure they aren't shady."

"So what did you find out?" he asked, smiling.

She raised her eyebrows. "Around the time _Three to Tango_ ended, his wife left him for another man—the man she's married to now. Apparently when Krish Puri died and McCoy had to take over the show he didn't have a lot of time for his family, but I'm sure there was a lot of other stuff under the surface, too—it's never that simple."

"No," he said. "Especially not in this town."

"So he got a pilot made that wasn't picked up, and then the next two years had a couple of failed pitches, and then his option with the network expired and he dropped out for a little bit, as far as I can tell. I think there might have been some kind of custody problem, but that's just a rumor. Then he appeared again a few months later doing some script doctoring work for a certain action star—you know, the one who did that stint on his sitcom—and that's what he's been doing ever since. He's very popular, very professional, very good with the sarcastic one-liner."

"I can imagine," he said. "He's certainly good with them in real life."

"Directed at you?" She asked.

"Sometimes. But more often at Spock. I don't think those two know what to do with each other," he said. "Bones is pretty emotional."

She chuckled. "You do like 'em volatile, Jimmy," she said.

"Huh," he said. "I guess I do. I never thought about it that way before." He cleared his throat. "Not that we're doing anything."

"No, just nice family dinners," she said.

He rolled his eyes. "Carol—"

"So, are you going to show me any of this actually serious movie?" she asked.

"Of course!" he said, glad for the change of subject. "You know I couldn't make a movie without you."

"I know," she replied.

* * *

  
Once Kirk got used to it, working alone wasn't so bad. He found himself going back to his college habits of sleeping at odd hours and working for eighteen hour stretches. Jean-Luc was in and out, of course, as was Sulu, and Spock and Uhura often came over together or separately. It took more than a few text messages insisting that he wouldn't be in the way to cajole McCoy into dropping by. When he did he had so many suggestions for music that Kirk put McCoy in touch with music supervisor Kevin Riley and let them work it out.

On a Tuesday in early September Kirk, Spock, McCoy and Uhura gathered in Pike's executive screening room at Fleet Pictures. Kirk was more nervous than he'd ever been in showing a cut to Pike; for all his other films the studio head had been more personally involved, but on _That Which Survives_ Kirk hadn't actually spoken to Pike since Uhura came onto the project during pre-production. Still, it wasn't like he didn't have studio approval.

Conversation ceased when the man himself rolled into the room "Kirk!" Pike never actually raised his voice, but he always made it sound like he did; Kirk had no idea how he did this but the man likely had the diaphragm of an opera singer. "How's it looking?"

"Very good, sir," Kirk replied, "but you'll be able to judge for yourself today."

Pike hummed, low in the back of his throat, a dubious sound that made Kirk even more nervous. Pike turned to Uhura. "So he Stockholmed you, did he?" Pike asked. "Thought you were immune to his charm?"

"I am, sir," Uhura said. "Kirk won me over with his hard work, dedication to the project, and flexibility in solving problems. He's much more of a team player than his reputation had me believing."

"Humph," Pike said. "You sound like _Spock_. Now who's going to control him?" He turned to McCoy. "And he's had _you_ in his pocket since the day you met."

McCoy smiled and lifted his eyebrows. "According to Winona Kirk, the same can be said for you, sir," he said.

Kirk's eyes widened, but Pike just chuckled. "Sad but true, Len. All right, when's the movie starting?" he asked, rolling to the space in the first row left open for his chair. Spock and Uhura sat on either side of him.

Kirk filed into the second row, McCoy next to him. As the lights dimmed, Kirk let out a long sigh, trying to shake his nerves, when he felt McCoy patting the top of his hand.

"It'll be fine," he whispered. "It's a good film."

Kirk turned to him and smiled, and McCoy smiled back, nodding. Before he could think about it, Kirk turned his hand over, and McCoy clasped it, much as Kirk had taken McCoy's hand that day in Riverside. He figured since it was dark and the others were in front of them no one would notice.

The cut Kirk was showing clocked in at about an hour and forty-five minutes, so at least he knew Pike wouldn't be bitching about the length. Only Spock and Uhura could really see how Pike was reacting, which was exactly why his spot was in the front row. Kirk tried to watch the film as a final look over the edit, but he was too nervous to be properly critical.

The lights came up, and Pike turned around to look at Kirk, who quickly released McCoy's hand.

"Well kid," Pike said, "you've got one hell of a film there."

Kirk sighed in relief. "Thank you, sir. We think so."

"What's your schedule on getting the final music done?" he asked.

"Shouldn't take more than a week or so," Kirk replied. "Why?"

"Found out this morning they've had a feature drop out of the London Film Festival and we can get you in if you can be ready by the end of September."

Kirk blinked. The festival was only three weeks before their planned release date, and if they did well it could generate a lot of buzz. "We'll make it, sir."

"Excellent," Pike said, "because there's a hell of a release slate going up in November, and if we can get this film out ahead of that, we might be able to make some kind of impact."

"What are we facing, sir," Spock asked, "other than _Narada_?"

Pike scowled. "Other than Nero spending a hundred million dollars on his splashy Oscar-bait film opening Thanksgiving weekend, you mean?" he asked. "Isn't that enough?"

" _The Cloud Minders_ is scheduled for early October," Uhura said, "and it's getting great buzz heading into the Toronto festival next week. The critics are going to eat it up."

"Mark Piper wrote the screenplay adaptation," McCoy said. "He's a pal of mine, and he's very good."

"I believe the play won a Tony last year," Spock said.

"And the Pulitzer," McCoy said.

"And it has Robert April and Sarah Poole in the leads," Kirk said. "Talk about your Hollywood royalty." He slouched down in his seat and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling.

"There's probably seven or eight movies opening between Halloween and Christmas that have a shot at awards," Uhura said, "but it looks like _Narada_ and _The Cloud Minders_ are our real competition."

"We have faced worse odds," Spock said, "and still been triumphant."

"I know," Kirk said. "Just feel like the wind's been knocked out of me, is all. I'll get back up."

"You wanted a new challenge, Kirk?" Pike asked. "Well here it is. What you need to do is get all hands on deck and go out and _sell_ this thing. Which means we'd better get McCoy into some media training."

"Me, sir?" McCoy asked.

"You haven't given a proper interview in almost eight years, have you?" Pike said. "And I've read some of those and you weren't the most press-savvy fella."

"Well," McCoy said, "by the time anyone wanted to talk to me, the actors carried most of the publicity for the show. But why would I be giving interviews for this movie?"

"Looks like you and Khan are the story," Pike replied. "No offense to pretty boy Kirk here, but comebacks from old pros are more compelling than changes in direction by young turks."

"Writers are getting more attention nowadays," Uhura said, nodding, "and _Variety_ is interested in doing a piece on you. After all, Diablo Cody's story was a huge part of _Juno_."

"I didn't think I'd fallen _that_ far. I mean, I ain't a _stripper_ ," McCoy said, looking at Kirk.

Kirk cleared his throat to keep from giggling. He didn't know why McCoy's irritability made him feel better, but it worked. "With quotes like that," he said, "I can't understand why you want him to get training."

McCoy scowled, but Kirk knew he had him. "Fine," he said. "I'll do it."

"That's the spirit," Kirk said, patting him on the back.

"But I ain't doing any _photo shoots_ ," he said.

"One step at a time," Kirk said.

* * *

  
Kirk thought his reasons for sitting in on McCoy's media training were totally legit. After all, McCoy would be promoting _his_ movie, so he should take an interest. And McCoy might need his help, being a great interview himself. Plus it kept him from tweaking the movie while the music team did their work. He knew more fiddling would muddle the film, but he had to be doing _something_.

But mostly he went because watching McCoy do role plays with the publicity people was _hilarious_. McCoy clearly thought it was all just so much bullshit, but he wanted to please Pike as much as the rest of them did. Where McCoy kept stumbling was the completely expected, if intrusive, question about how autobiographical the screen play was. But Will Riker had endless patience.

"How much did you draw on your own life in this script?"

Take one, an honest reaction:

"That's none of your goddamn business. What the hell?"

Take two, a lie:

"None of it! I'm a screenwriter, not a journalist!"

Take three, a technical run-around:

"Every story has an element of truth to it, of course. But a powerful narrative uses that kernel and changes the details that surround it to make that truth more universal. Fiction is really a search for a _higher_ truth in which the facts are less important than the relatability of the story itself."

Take four, the director's strangely unappreciated suggestion, to which McCoy replied with a raised eyebrow and "stick to directing, kid":

"You can't handle the truth!"

Take five, a compromise:

"My father did die when I was in college, but that's where the similarities end."

"Great," Riker said, though his smile was a little tight with stress. "I think you're as ready to talk to _Variety_ as we can make you!"

"I'll sit in," Kirk said.

"Don't trust me, Jim?" McCoy asked.

Kirk smiled. "More like, don't trust _them_ ," he said.

McCoy cocked his head. "Or, need something to keep you busy before the movie premieres."

"You know all my secrets, Bones," Kirk said.

* * *

  
The _Variety_ reporter, a somewhat colorless fellow named Data, met McCoy in Kirk's office, since he didn't really have an office of his own and no one thought him ready for the seeming informality of a lunch interview. McCoy was working his charm—he really could be disarming when he applied himself—and the reporter was swallowing it all happily. They talked _Three to Tango_ , how McCoy took over the show after Puri's death, his years as a script doctor, and _That Which Survives_. Then the reporter tripped over a land mine, and Kirk kicked himself for not remembering it was there.

"So let's go back to the time after _Three to Tango_ ended. You shopped a few pilots around, unsuccessfully, and at the same time you were divorced and I believe lost custody of your daughter?"

McCoy blinked. "I'm not sure what this has to do with—"

"Well, we are talking about fatherhood, aren't we? That is one of the themes of the film."

McCoy turned to Kirk, wild-eyed, looking like he had on that flight to Georgia. "I … I … I—"

"If we're talking about McCoy as a father," Kirk said quickly, "he's a full-time dad to his daughter. Takes her to school every morning, checks her homework, the whole thing."

"Does he?" Data asked. "That's lovely."

"Isn't it?" Kirk agreed. "They have an amazing relationship." He leaned in closer. "Oh, and by the way, off the record?"

Data leaned in, too. "Yes?"

"You know that rom-com TV script floating around town, about the mystery writer who solves crimes with the lady police detective?"

"Sure, I heard it's been picked up for mid-season. Why?"

"The way the writer relates to his daughter? _Totally_ based on McCoy and his kid."

"Really?" Data asked.

"Uh, yeah," McCoy replied. "The writer isn't much like me, but the girl is a lot like my daughter. The creator is an old buddy of mine, so he's seen us together a lot. It's flattering."

"C'mon," Data said. "You gotta let me use that."

Kirk shrugged. "Talk to the writer of that script," he said. "It's his work."

"I'll do that," he replied. "Well, I think I have everything I need."

"Great," Kirk said, standing. They exchanged good-byes, and Jean-Luc walked him out.

McCoy turned to Kirk. "I'm sorry I froze up there, Jim. Thanks for the save."

Kirk shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I've done it more than you have, that's all. When they get to tender places, just redirect them with a better story. They get good copy, you keep your secrets, everybody wins." He smiled. "Besides, you saved me with Khan, so let's call it even."

"You solved that yourself, Jim," McCoy said, shaking his head.

"I was floundering, Bones. You snapped me out of it."

"Well," McCoy said, "all right then."

And just like that, Kirk and McCoy did all their promotion together. After the _Variety_ piece was a hometown-boy-brings-us-jobs story for the _Atlanta Constitution_ , and a conversation with the Hollywood reporter for the _Times_ of London for a piece to coincide with the film festival. Kirk had never done interviews with anyone else in tow—Spock didn't do them at all and Carol became a star too quickly to need to share them—and he'd always been a little jealous of the other actors who got to sit through junkets together. But now he had a buddy, too, and he liked to think they played off each other pretty well. They were good at making _each other_ laugh, if nothing else.

* * *

  
The music team finished their work in record time. The score was anchored by a lovely, haunting, piano-based theme that Kirk knew would work as perfectly over the trailers as it did in the film. Putting McCoy in touch with Kevin Riley to talk about music for the film turned out to be a good move—Riley found him so helpful that he not only gave him an assistant supervisor credit on the film and an assistant producer credit on the soundtrack, but unearthed precious Grammy tickets for McCoy.

Now that the film was completed, Kirk held two small screenings. The first was for the team and the actors, Carol, Pike, and a few other folks at the studio, which happily went over fairly well. Khan seemed pleased with his performance on screen, and both Chekov and Gaila were excited to get out and promote the film.

The other was a private one for Joanna and Jocelyn, as McCoy didn't want them to see the film for the first time in front of other people. In person Jocelyn was softer than she'd seemed on television, and after all if McCoy had repaired his relationship with her it wasn't Kirk's place to be angry with her on his behalf. "Len says you dance," she said.

"Not really," Kirk said. "I've seen your work and I'm pretty sure you wouldn't call me a dancer."

She raised her eyebrows. "You've got the body for one," she said.

"Mom!" Joanna said. "Gross."

"What on earth, Jo?" she replied. "Jim is an adult."

"Yeah, but he's Dad's friend," she explained, "and he's at the house all the time and it's like you're talking about one of my friend's dads or something."

Jocelyn smiled. "All the time?"

"Well, we've been working hard for months," McCoy said.

"On the movie, yeah," Kirk added.

"So let's see it," Jocelyn said, sitting down next to her daughter.

Kirk couldn't really decide who to watch. Jocelyn's tears started flowing the moment McCoy's house appeared on screen. Joanna had read the script and knew what was coming, though by the end she was grabbing for the tissues as well. When the film ended Kirk brought up the lights slowly, and then sat down to give them time and space for their reaction.

"Oh Len," Jocelyn said, reaching over to take his hand. "David would be so proud to have inspired this. It's lovely."

McCoy nodded. "I hope so," he said. "Thanks."

Joanna blew her nose, then launched herself into her father's lap. "I'm sorry, Dad," she said, hugging him tightly.

"What for, sweetheart?" McCoy asked.

She sat up to look him in the eye. "When you told me the story," she said, "I pictured you now. But you weren't much older than me, were you?"

"No," he said, "I wasn't."

"Don't you go anyplace," she said, tucking her head down on his shoulder.

"I'll do my best not to," he said, holding her tight.

Kirk surreptitiously grabbed a tissue for himself. He hadn't thought about the real-life side of the film since Iowa at least, and even then he'd already been single-minded about what the details meant for the movie, not what the events had meant for McCoy. He didn't want to intrude on McCoy's family moment now, but made a note to himself to make it up to McCoy as soon as possible, because even Carol would admit that he wasn't a selfish ass _all_ the time.

* * *

  
Before they left for the London Film Festival, Kirk made sure McCoy had a plan for surviving the long flight from LA. At least they were buying out first class on their flight, so McCoy would be surrounded by friends.

"My plan," said McCoy, "is to _sleep through it_ , like a normal person on an eleven-hour flight, just with a bit of pharmaceutical assistance."

"Really?" Kirk asked. "I was hoping you'd take an Ativan and just be loopy. Sitting next to a sleeping Bones doesn't sound like nearly as much fun."

"You're _disappointed_?" McCoy asked. "You really want a repeat of that flight to Georgia?"

"No, of course not," Kirk replied. "Sorry we can't just go there digitally, though."

"Digitally?"

"Scotty thinks digital transport could happen within our lifetime. He reads all these articles about it and stuff."

"Oh, that would definitely be better," McCoy said, scowling, "to have my corporeal self translated into a long string of _ones and zeroes_ and transmitted over equipment that routinely drops _phone calls_. Have you _seen_ the size of the human genome, Jim?"

"Well unfortunately the land bridge to Asia is gone," Kirk said, "but we could take the Union-Pacific Railroad to New York and hop on the Queen Mary if you want to be all old Hollywood about it."

McCoy's scowl eased. "And be met by newsreel cameras as soon as we arrive, I imagine."

Kirk nodded, smiling. "We'll make the rotogravure from coast to coast."

McCoy chuckled. "I'm not a luddite. I just feel better when my feet are on the ground."

"You gotta fly sometimes," Kirk said.

* * *

  
London was a blur of interviews, dinners, screenings of other films, everyone trying to catch up with rarely-seen friends, Scotty's parents (who were even more hilarious than he was, which Kirk didn't think was _possible_ ) and one long red carpet. The only parts Kirk could focus on were their own screening and McCoy, who was by his side every step of the way. Kirk thought they were becoming quite a good team, the two of them. If they could all keep up the pace they might be able to rise above the rest of the serious fall films they were up against.

 _That Which Survives_ got an excellent position in the festival, the major film on the Saturday of the first weekend. Kirk was almost beside himself with nerves, as was McCoy—heck, so were they all—so he decided to take the entire group on a lunchtime outing to see his favorite thing in London. Thanks to Jean-Luc phoning ahead the group had a guide as soon as they arrived at the Tate Modern who took them straight upstairs.

"Wow," Sulu said. "This is amazing."

"Yeah," Kirk replied, walking more fully into the room. "Rothko originally painted these on commission from the Seagram family to hang in the Four Seasons restaurant. But after he made them he decided they shouldn't hang in a room where robber barons ate their dinner, and gave the money back. Some of the paintings are in Japan, some at the National Gallery in DC, and the rest are here in this room."

Kirk sat down on one of the benches. The gallery was small, the lighting dimmer than usual in a museum, and on all four walls hung large abstract paintings of dark red, brown and black squares and stripes in the customary Mark Rothko style. Kirk could feel his blood pressure dropping, just looking at them. He took in a deep cleansing breath, and sighed. His companions wandered around the room, soaking up the art and the atmosphere, and Kirk pulled up to sit cross-legged, turning every few minutes to look at a different painting.

McCoy took a long turn around the room before sitting down next to Kirk. "Never woulda pegged you for a modern art fan," he said.

"I like how they leave room for what you bring to them," Kirk said. "Like how a movie isn't really complete until an audience sees it."

"Never thought about it that way," McCoy admitted. "But why don't you own any art?"

"I do," Kirk said, "but it's always on loan. Seems selfish to buy something and just have it hanging in my house. I'd rather have windows and movie screens."

"You're a good man, Charlie Brown," McCoy said.

Kirk shrugged, but he couldn't help a little smile at McCoy's praise. "I try."

* * *

  
Kirk was glad he'd made the pilgrimage to the Rothkos, because he wasn't going to be able to take his usual stance at the back of the room. They all had seats in the audience, Kirk making sure he was between McCoy and Spock, and once the lights went down he slumped in his seat.

"Sit up," McCoy whispered. "You're gonna wrinkle your jacket."

Kirk reacted by taking his jacket off, draping it across his lap, and slumping back down. He could hear McCoy sighing next to him.

The movie began in silence, a text card with a definition Kirk had found coming up on the screen immediately after the Fleet logo:  


> saudade (Portuguese): a nostalgic feeling for someone or something that one was fond of and which has been lost. It was once described as "the love that remains" after someone is gone.

Cut to Chekov's character, Walter, driving on those beautiful Georgia back roads that McCoy had driven Kirk around on that day, the hauntingly simple piano theme playing under the credits, until he pulled into the driveway to see Gaila's Nurse Rachel waiting for him on the porch—the very first scene they'd shot of the entire film.

The movie _looked_ great, at least, and in the funny moments there was some laughter here and there, but mostly the audience was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Kirk tried desperately not to fidget; he was used to premiering movies that were much louder and had audiences shouting. He knew in his head that this wasn't that sort of movie, but his adrenal system hadn't caught on to that fact quite yet.

When it finished, credits rolling and music swelling from the speakers, the audience was still quiet though he couldn't hear them even moving to leave the room. And then, suddenly, his ears were hit by a roar of sound as they all applauded. Kirk turned around, cautiously, and saw that there were even some people standing up here and there, more and more as the idea caught on, until they were receiving a bona fide standing ovation.

Kirk turned to McCoy, and then to Spock and Uhura, and they both looked as surprised as he felt. "Looks like they liked it, Bones," he said.

"Imagine that," McCoy replied.

* * *

  
They stopped in New York on the way back for a critics' screening and two days of junkets and talk shows, still high off the London reception of the film. McCoy's reaction to sitting on a couch next to Kirk answering the same questions over and over for two days was to make a precise tally of the questions asked and then make a pie chart to give to Spock, "who'd appreciate it." The top five questions were:

5\. (directed at Kirk) What was it like working with your old nemesis Khan/your old friend Gaila/rising young star Chekov/without Carol Marcus?

4\. How was your approach to directing this film/writing this script different than an action film/sitcom?

3\. (directed at McCoy) How much of your real life did you use for the script? You're a father now; how did that change the story?

2\. What was it like working with (each other)?

and the number one question:

1\. Did the fact that both of you have lost your fathers have an effect on how you made this film?

That was the one question that Kirk hadn't been prepared for, because he hadn't even known his father, while McCoy had been raised by his. Sure, the first credit at the end of the film read, "In loving memory of David McCoy and George Kirk" but that was as far as the similarities went. But Kirk thought he hid his jealousy of McCoy's family ties pretty well, all things considered.

Mostly it was just fun, sitting on a tiny couch in a hotel room trying to make each other laugh. Though that tiny couch part sometimes made Kirk regret he'd sworn off sex for the movie, as he was aware of McCoy's broad, muscular body in a way he wasn't most of the time. It would be so easy to just reach out and touch him, but he held back. He knew it was the right decision, knew he had to power down and reboot his sex drive to get it back under control, knew that fucking someone more than once made them not really a one night stand but a fuck buddy, and knew that after Carol maybe he shouldn't have fuckbuddies around. Still, when McCoy gestured wildly, or held himself back from being cuttingly sarcastic in response to a stupid question, or said something so perfect that Kirk had nothing to add, or—the best part—leaned back his head and laughed, Kirk kind of wished things could be different.

* * *

  
On the flight back to LA, McCoy did just take an Ativan, and spent the flight blissed out, sipping on club soda and playing travel Scrabble with Kirk and Spock.

"Oh man," Kirk said, looking up at Spock, "I just realized that you can't be my date to the premiere."

"I don't see why not, Jim," Spock said, making Kirk's "distract" into "distraction" and picking up the resulting triple word score. "When you had other attachments you still brought me as your escort."

"Yeah, but those women were either actresses who had to walk the red carpet by themselves anyway, or Marla who wouldn't walk it at all. And you should go with Nyota."

"I'll be your date, Jim," McCoy said. "All four of us can go together."

"You gonna put out?" Kirk asked.

McCoy surveyed the board. "Spock, you ever put out for Jim?"

"No, I have not," Spock said.

"Then you're used to it."

"Yeah, the four of us, that could be good," Kirk said. "I'll send over my stylist."

"Your stylist?" McCoy asked.

"Well, not really mine. Carol's."

"Are you implying that I don't know how to dress myself?"

"Not at all," Kirk replied. "But you know, red carpets ..."

"I'm a writer, not an actor, Jim," McCoy said, jutting out his jaw stubbornly. "As long as I'm clean and tidy I don't think anyone will care. London went fine and I didn't have a stylist there. Jo just told me what to pack."

"Oh, so you _do_ have a stylist. She's just fourteen and lives with you." Kirk paused. "Wait, aren't you going to bring Jo to the premiere?"

"No," McCoy said. "She doesn't want to see the movie in public and I don't want to have to chaperone her through that party." He started laying down tiles, making Kirk's "cord" into "concordance." "Let's see, double word, got a triple letter for the 'c,' bonus for using all my tiles—"

"Ugh, I don't even want to know," Kirk said, sitting back in his seat. "How did you get so good at board games? You're an only child."

"Jocelyn was a very competitive little girl," McCoy said.

Kirk shook his head. "I'll say."

* * *

  
Kirk didn't expect the LA premiere to be anything like London. The LA audience would have more jaded industry insiders. Plus festival audiences often had stronger reactions to films, particularly very emotional films like _That Which Survives_. So as he wandered down the red carpet with McCoy, stopping for every microphone Will Riker pointed out, he tried to keep his expectations low.

Carol was there, and how one person's body could change that much in just three weeks Kirk wasn't sure, but she'd gone from being slightly round to stretching across several zip codes. Kirk was sure that the designers were still clamoring to clothe her, even if this wasn't her movie and even if she did have a sizable bump, because pregnant or not the woman could wear the hell out of a dress. She was a pal to come out and support them, since she'd just had a summer blockbuster and with that and the pregnancy she didn't exactly need the publicity. But she said she loved the movie and was excited to see it do well.

And no, the premiere wasn't like London, but it was still more than he thought it could be. The audience applauded, and several people came up to Kirk at the party to tell him, in confidence, that they'd teared up more than once. The good word that had started in London and flowed through New York agreed that the movie delivered on life and love and loss and all the things promised by its title, and Kirk was just keeping his fingers crossed that good buzz would lead to good reviews would lead to decent enough box office that Pike wouldn't take a loss, because Kirk would very much like to make another movie like this one.

* * *

  
Between the premiere and opening day, Pike set up a couple of screenings of his own.

 _The Cloud Minders_ , which had opened while they were in London, earned every bit of its praise. The story centered around two older people taking a last chance on love, and it was sweetly sentimental without being cloying. The adaptation from the award-winning play was light and adept, and the real-life chemistry and old-school craft of married couple Robert April and Sarah Poole shone out of every frame. It was the sleeper hit of the early fall, one of those movies the press got excited about because it was "for grown-ups."

"Damn," Kirk said. "That was beautiful. There is no way they aren't going to sweep the acting awards. I'm kinda glad that Khan has a supporting role now."

"They are clearly our main competition," Spock said. "I am pleased that their release date was well ahead of our own. I hope this means that we will have the momentum heading into award season, rather than they."

"Why Spock, that's downright Machiavellian!" McCoy said.

Spock nodded his head. "I find it is best to consider all strategic opportunities," he replied.

Pike also had a copy of _Narada_ , the latest Nero picture out of Romulus Films which was opening two weeks after _That Which Survives_. _Narada_ had Oscar Movie written all over it—big sweeping shots of beautiful scenery, action with a side of doomed love story set against historical events, young actors made into stars, no expense spared. _Narada_ was the Goliath in every way possible, even without counting Kirk and Nero's personal antipathy or Fleet's rivalry with Romulus.

Pike, however, was entirely unimpressed. "That was empty prestige bullshit," he said.

Kirk shook his head. "I could have made that movie for half the money and two-thirds the running time, and it would have been _better_."

"Nero needs to stop writing his own damn movies," McCoy said. "That dialogue was so clunky—I think he just put down a bunch of cliches and rearranged them into that by-the-numbers plot that comes out of hacky screenwriting books."

"C'mon, guys, it wasn't _that_ bad," Uhura had said. "People will cry and it will make a lot of money. It's based on an Oprah book, you know."

"I see," Spock said. "Pity he could not rise above his source."

McCoy laughed at that, and Kirk didn't think he'd ever seen McCoy laugh at one of Spock's rare jokes before. Turning to Uhura, he said, "We're surrounded by snobs."

"Tell me about it," she replied.

* * *

  
As a child Kirk watched many old-time "putting a show on Broadway" movies, where the cast decamps from the premiere to Sardi's to await the early papers with the first reviews on which the show would live or die. Movies hadn't been like that then and certainly weren't like that now. Sure, a few blog posts had been made after the critics' screening in New York and the premiere in LA, but unlike the Bibi Besch movies _That Which Survives_ wasn't going to ignite the fanboy boards. The cineastes seemed to look upon it favorably, however.

On the Thursday before the limited opening in the usual handful of cities, though, Kirk got a text from McCoy.

>   
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  Tony Scott just liked a movie I wrote. Is this my life?
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  damn all he's said about the other movies I've directed is that they're "spirited fun"
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  Is it wrong that I'm refreshing Ebert's site every hour or so?
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  no. can I invite myself to dinner? no reason you should go through this alone
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  Sure. We're just grilling tonight.
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  I'll bring dessert.

  
And so much to the amusement of Joanna, Kirk and McCoy sat hunched over smart phones and laptops, getting and sending links between them and the rest of the team, and before long Spock and Uhura had dropped in with a big salad and some very good red wine as the reviews started to roll in. Each good notice got a toast, as did the few negative ones, and Kirk watched the Rotten Tomatoes meter moving from 50 to 75 and as high as 95 before settling, for the time being at least, around 85. Most of the praise was of the "who knew they had it in them?" variety, whether talking about Kirk's direction, McCoy's script, or the performances of Gaila, Chekov, or Khan, who was frequently singled out for particular accolades.

Even though Kirk wasn't inebriated or even particularly tired, McCoy insisted that Kirk stay overnight because "you're not riding that bike home at one a.m., dammit." It was sort of sweet, really; it had been a long time since anyone had really looked after him, which at first had been by design because life in Iowa had been so stifling, but of late had just been habit. He had to admit, it felt kind of nice.

So after Spock and Uhura left he bedded down in the spare room, setting his phone alarm to wake up with the McCoys. As soon as his eyes opened that morning he had a _brilliant idea_ that he shared with Joanna, who of course thought it was equally brilliant. McCoy, on the other hand, was unimpressed.

"I have to register you and sign a form and all this bullshit," McCoy said.

"I can see that if I was picking her up, but just dropping her off?" Kirk asked.

"Dad, the form is on the school website," Joanna said, "and you can send us with it and then call them."

"Well," McCoy said, hesitating.

"C'mon, Bones," Kirk said. "You get to sleep in, and then I'll come back and make you breakfast. You know, since you made dinner last night and put me up and stuff." He wasn't using the puppy eyes quite yet, but he was ready to.

McCoy sighed. " _Fine_ ," he said. "Where's the form?"

Joanna grinned broadly. "I'll print it out for you!" she said, running off to the computer.

McCoy pointed at Kirk. "Not fair, turning a man's daughter against him," he said.

"I did no such thing!" Kirk protested, smiling. "I wanted to do something nice for you! Just because she agreed with me ..."

"I'm afraid to let you two join forces," McCoy replied. "You could take over the world."

"We'd bring you along," Kirk said. "Promise."

"Got it!" Joanna said. "Just sign here."

McCoy grumbled, but did as he was told. "I know you won't do anything stupid with my kid on your bike, Jim; otherwise I wouldn't let you take her to school." He looked up, handing the sheet back to Joanna. "But don't do anything stupid with my kid on your bike."

"I won't," Kirk replied.

"And Jo, don't mess around," McCoy said.

"I won't," Joanna said solemnly.

"All right, off with you," he said.

"Go back to bed, Bones," Kirk shouted over his shoulder.

Kirk had never actually had a young person on his bike before. He'd had ladies, and a few guys, and McCoy that time, and Spock only when necessary as he didn't care for it. But other than Spock, they were people he'd fucked or wanted to fuck, which Joanna decidedly was not. They tucked her things into the saddlebags and got the helmet on her head and took off down the road, and Kirk did find himself being more careful than usual. McCoy had trusted him with some precious cargo here, and Kirk was determined to show that he was worthy of that trust. And Joanna's arms around his waist felt amazing—not in a sexual way of course (and not just because she was fourteen or because she was his friend's kid, but because the Miri debacle had taught him that he definitely had a lower age limit and it was higher than just "legal"). No, they felt warm and wonderful and _trusting_ , and made Kirk want to sit up a little straighter.

The students at the Brentwood School were a tough crowd to impress, given that they were mostly the kids of high-flying Hollywood players, so Kirk chalked up the stares they got to Joanna being dropped off by someone other than her parents and on a motorcycle no less. Joanna basked in the attention as they handed off the paperwork to the monitor and Kirk had to grin, watching her walk away with her friends.

On the way back to Venice Kirk stopped to get all the ingredients for a seriously amazing omelet for two, and commandeered McCoy's kitchen while he sat at the counter and watched, warily. "An extra two hours of sleep looks good on you, Bones," Kirk said. "You're like, forty percent less irritable than usual."

"You spend too much time with Spock," McCoy replied.

Kirk chuckled. "Not lately," he said. "Say, what are you doing this weekend? Got a lot of work?"

"Not a _lot_ ," McCoy said, shrugging. "Some. Why?"

"Since you did such a good job of distracting me on my last opening weekend," Kirk replied, keeping a watchful eye on his home fries, "I wondered if you'd be interested in doing it again. I can offer a pool, lots of movies and free wifi!"

"So now you're a budget hotel?" McCoy asked.

"Nah, I have better views," he said, waggling his eyebrows.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "I'll go if you behave yourself."

"What fun is that?" Kirk asked, pulling the omelet out of the oven.

"I probably should get out of the house," McCoy said, sighing.

"You deserve a weekend off," Kirk said. "For many reasons."

"All right," he said, "but I'm bringing my swim trunks."

"Do," Kirk replied. "You swimming naked in the pool is too damn distracting."

* * *

  
Having McCoy in his house for the weekend was kind of like being with Spock, only not. It was certainly as easy as being with Spock, which was kinda weird because Kirk had known Spock for so much longer, but then Spock was a difficult guy to be around for long periods of time so maybe it balanced out. They played video games, watched movies, made ridiculous meals, dunked each other in the pool, and Kirk realized how long it had been since he'd hung out with anyone who wasn't on his team. Only, McCoy was on his team now, too. And the sex thing came and went, especially when McCoy was newly awake and rumpled, but Kirk felt like maybe he had it under control, finally.

Jean-Luc called Monday morning with the final tally: a million dollars in twenty theaters.

"I guess those are smaller numbers than you're used to, huh Jim?" McCoy asked. He was floating in the pool while Kirk sat on the edge, his feet in the water.

Kirk shrugged. "Per-screen average of fifty thou? I'll take that. _Variety_ will say, 'surprisingly strong in limited release' and Pike will make his money back by February."

McCoy smiled then. "So it's a success?"

Kirk looked at McCoy, at the way the sunshine made him glow, and said, "Bones, I think it already was."


	9. Final Push

  
Beaten and battered, your hero must now risk everything she has, and give every ounce of strength and courage she possesses, to achieve her ultimate goal

_December, 2008_

McCoy was having one of those truly excellent dreams where he was James Bond and Martin Amis all rolled into one, men and women falling at his feet just to hear him read his own devastating short stories in his Georgia drawl and the bourbon and the money flowed freely and without consequence. Only in this one, Jim Kirk was there, fetching him drinks and sitting at his elbow and staring up at him adoringly, which he never did in real life. Well, maybe the drink fetching. Still, it was a damn good dream, and then Big Ben started chiming, which was odd as he was in a pied-à-terre on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. It bonged again, and suddenly Joanna was there—what was she doing at this decadent party? he thought and buttoned his shirt back up—and she said, "I think your phone is ringing."

He opened his eyes. "Dad?" Joanna was calling from the other room. "Is that your phone?"

"Yeah," he replied. He shuffled out to the living room, where he'd left it the night before, noting that it was five a.m. and he could have used that extra hour of sleep, thanks. He glanced down at the phone, then answered it. "Dammit, Jim! What the hell?"

"Bones!" Kirk shouted. "Can you believe it?"

"What?" he asked.

"You don't know? I thought Christine would have called you by now."

"My agent knows better than to _wake me up_ which is apparently more than I can say for my _director_."

"We got nominated for Globes. I think that's worth waking up for."

"What?" McCoy said, sitting down on the couch.

"Golden Globes! You, me, Khan, Gaila and the movie! Everyone but Chekov, poor kid."

"What?" McCoy asked again.

"You already said that," Kirk replied. "Man, you _do_ need that beauty sleep don't you?"

"Ya think?'

"Champagne breakfast, Bones. Come to Spock's place after you drop off Jo, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll do that," McCoy said, and hung up.

Joanna padded out to the living room, rubbing her eyes. "What did Jim want?"

McCoy sat staring at his phone. "We, uh, we got nominated for Golden Globes," he said.

"That's great, Dad," she said, turning around to go back to her room. "Go to bed."

"Yep," McCoy said. But he didn't go back to his bed; instead he said on the couch, half-awake and staring at his email inbox as it filled up with messages.

* * *

  
Après that, le déluge.

McCoy had thought he was immune to this sort of thing. Television was a marathon, if it was good. He'd worked for seven years on a critically-acclaimed, highly-rated, famous-people-beg-to-be-on-it sitcom, and had a Globe and three Emmys to show for it. Krish Puri had been concerned with delivering show after show, season after season, and three camera sitcoms were a grind. Twenty-four episodes a year, every year, and in the later seasons working around the movie schedules of the stars. McCoy was pretty aware that the Globe they got that fifth season was more about Puri's death than anything else, though he liked to think he'd earned the Emmy he got for writing the episode where Zach and Zoe finally got together, "A Private Little War." And ever since he'd been working in film, his milieu had been the summer blockbuster.

But this awards season business was more like a sprint. The Globe nominations were announced only three weeks after the movie opened, and they were quickly followed by any number of year-end "best film" lists on which _That Which Survives_ appeared with surprising regularity. Jean-Luc kept track and sent emails with links or mailed clips to the team, as did Chapel and Rand: _Entertainment Weekly, The New York Times, The Los Angeles Times, Newsweek, Time, The New Yorker_. There were celebratory lunches and yet more interviews for everyone. While their lead might have been left out of the Globe noms, Chekov was to be a presenter, and besides he had more scripts than he knew what to do with.

A few of those articles required photos, but McCoy was steadfast in not really caring how he looked, much to the dismay of Kirk and Joanna. Joanna insisted on at least picking out his clothing for these snapshots, but all the fussing made him nervous. He was a writer, dammit, not an actor. The photo shoot he had to take seriously, though, came through about five days after the Globe noms were announced.

"They want us in _Vanity Fair_ ," Kirk said.

"Us who?" McCoy asked.

"All of us. Whoever I say. They heard about the nickname and want to do a 'captain and his crew' thing for the Hollywood issue."

"Huh," McCoy said.

"I figure the four of us, Scotty and Sulu, Gaila, Chekov, Khan, and Carol of course."

"Carol?"

"Gotta dance with the one that brung you," Kirk replied.

"Is she gonna want to do that, though?" McCoy asked. "Isn't she due in a month or something?"

"Like she's ever turned down a photo shoot," Kirk said.

Kirk was right, though it certainly helped that they only had to go to Long Beach for the shoot. Annie Liebowitz gathered them on the bridge of the old Queen Mary, putting them in 30s era clothes. The actors were buzzing as they drifted between hair, makeup and wardrobe; the SAG nominations had been announced that morning and _That Which Survives_ was up for three of them: supporting for Gaila and Khan, plus the cast award. McCoy thought Chekov, who looked like a cross between Andy Hardy-era Mickey Rooney and Leo DiCaprio in _The Aviator_ , was going to vibrate right off the boat and into the water he was so excited. Carol smiled at them like an old pro, as the fourth Bibi Besch movie had won for stunt cast two years before. Kirk said that was why he had a good feeling about the SAGs.

Once the stylists got through with him McCoy's hair was slicked down with so much styling cream he looked like Clark Gable, big ears and all. Kirk, predictably, just looked like even more of a matinee idol than usual. Carol, sitting next to him, was gorgeous and glowing, and gave the stylists a hard time about how to dress Uhura and Gaila, making sure they got every bit of the attention she usually received. McCoy brought Joanna along, even took her out of school for the day, because heaven knew her old man wasn't going to be in anything like this again, and she sat in the back with big eyes, soaking it all in.

"See, Bones?" Kirk said. "We went old Hollywood after all."

* * *

  
Less than a week later, McCoy was on his hands and knees trying to scrub a particularly stubborn bit of who-knows-what off the edge of the tub when he heard a banging on the front door. It wasn't often that he had visitors in the middle of a weekday afternoon, but he was still surprised to see Jim Kirk standing outside his door.

"Come in, Jim," he said. "You look beat."

Kirk slumped onto the couch in a daze. "Carol had the baby this morning."

"Well!" McCoy said. "I don't have any cigars but I do have some whiskey."

"That sounds fantastic," he said.

"How long was the labor?" McCoy called from the kitchen.

"She called me at noon yesterday," Kirk said, "and we finally went to the hospital around four in the afternoon. So sixteen hours, I guess."

"That's not bad," McCoy said. "I never asked, boy or girl?"

Kirk smiled. "She had a little boy. She was a few weeks early, but the doc wasn't worried at all. I don't blame her—David is almost eight pounds."

McCoy's hand shook, and a little whiskey sloshed onto the counter. "She named him David?" he asked.

"Yeah, why?"

McCoy finished pouring and came back to the living room. "David was my father's name," he said, handing Kirk the glass.

"Oh, that's right," Kirk said. "Well, here's to both of them."

"I'll drink to that," McCoy said, and sat down next to Kirk. "And how are you?"

"I'm lucky Carol asked me to do this," Kirk replied. "She was a trouper. Of course, she was on some serious drugs, but still. There's a whole extra person in the world today, Bones. It's kind of amazing, isn't it?"

"Amazing's the word for it," McCoy replied, thinking of that day Joanna was born and how completely in love with the world he'd been. "How's the mother?"

"Carol's all right. She's got five older sisters, all of whom have already had kids, so they just descended on the hospital with her mother and they're all staying with her in shifts for the first few months."

"Doesn't she have a nanny?" McCoy asked.

Kirk shook his head. "Not yet. She didn't want a baby nurse. She thought it made her too much like a queen."

"Carol Marcus, too much like a queen?" McCoy asked.

"I know, right?" Kirk said. "I think she just heard that the longer you nurse the more weight you lose. Plus Carol has a hidden crunchy side—she grew up in northern California and her parents were hippies on a commune or something. So she's doing it with family help for a while. She'll get someone when she goes back to work, I bet."

"Well, good for her," McCoy said. They were quiet for a bit and then McCoy said, "Stick around for a little bit, take a shower, and Jo and I will take you out to dinner."

"I didn't have the baby, Bones," Kirk said.

"Yeah, but you just spent a whole day with a woman who was having one," McCoy said.

"It just feels awfully congratulatory for someone who just held her hand and told her to keep breathing."

"Shouldn't it be? Carol's your girl, isn't she?"

"What do you mean?" Kirk asked.

"Well, uh, just that she seems to be the one in your life," he said. "The one you keep coming back to. The one you reach for when you've broken up with your girlfriend, for example."

"You have a point," Kirk said, rubbing the back of his head. "But I dunno if that's true anymore."

"No?" McCoy asked, carefully neutral, though he wasn't sure why it was so important to him.

"So when you quit smoking, the hardest part is to stop the associations you have with it. You know, cigarette with the morning coffee, after dinner, with a beer, that whole thing."

"Right."

"I feel like this year I did that with Carol. I didn't go to her the night before the first day of shooting; I went to you. I didn't go to her when I was having trouble on the set; you and Spock and Uhura came to me. I didn't even talk to her about this script before I decided I wanted to do it." He paused. "Okay this makes it sound like I replaced her with you, but it's not the same thing at all, trust me."

"I know," McCoy said. "I'm not your fuckbuddy."

"No," Kirk agreed. "And you know, two years ago, if she'd wanted a baby she just would have come to me and said, 'Hey Jimmy, let's have a baby.' But she decided to do it on her own. And I made this movie without her. And Spock got himself a girlfriend without either of us even knowing about it." He shook his head. "Man, that party was so crazy that it changed everything. Even Janice and Christine—you know they finally moved in together after that party."

"I didn't realize they were there," McCoy said.

"Oh, they were there all right," he replied. "Anyway, that's just—I think things with Carol and Spock are just going to be different now. We got too entwined and we needed a break." He smiled. "But I'll still take that dinner."

"Good," McCoy said. "Plenty of reason enough."

"Thanks," Kirk said. "So, what are your plans next week?"

"Christmas?" McCoy asked. "Well, Jo will go up to her mother's place on Friday for the week, and I'll go up and join them for Christmas dinner. And you?"

"I don't know, actually," Kirk said. "It's another one of those associations, I guess. Usually Spock and I go to the movies and get Chinese, but he and Nyota are spending the week in New York with her family. And his father, which should be interesting."

"Why?" McCoy asked.

"Well, they're estranged." Kirk looked up. "He got the movie bug from his mom; she died while we were at USC. His father thought it was one thing to get his Ph.D. in film crit, but quite another to start making the things, especially the movies we make. So they haven't talked for a while."

"What could his father have against movies?"

"Oh, that's right, you don't know Spock's real name. His grandfather started a publishing house, brought over a lot of highbrow stuff from Europe, and his dad took it over. He's kind of a book snob, though to hear Spock tell it, in the early days Vulcan stayed afloat by bringing over the more risque stuff. They just looked brave because they helped bring down the obscenity laws."

"Vulcan Books?" McCoy asked, surprised. "Spock's father is _Sarek?_ "

"Yeah, that's right," Kirk replied.

As the head of a publishing house known for its literary fiction, Sarek was a regular guest on the kind of "liberal elite" chat shows that McCoy often watched or listened to. He'd always found Sarek knowledgeable, if a bit stiff and very aware of his position in literary circles. "Jesus, that's where he gets it from," McCoy said.

Kirk kept talking as though McCoy hadn't said anything, his usual reaction whenever McCoy said something not-so-nice about Spock. "So anyway Nyota is trying to get them back together. I guess there's a lunch planned? Good luck to it. Spock would never show it but I know the thing with his dad makes him a little glum."

"So you don't go to Iowa?" McCoy asked.

"No," Kirk said, looking away from McCoy and out the window. "Winona and I decided, during college, that it would be better if I came home other times of the year. Days that aren't so emotionally charged."

"I see," McCoy said, though he didn't, not really. But then, he'd seen Kirk with his mother and while they were cordial he wasn't sure he'd call it a warm relationship. Then, before he could think about it too much, he said, "Come to Calabassas with me."

"What?" Kirk asked. "No, that's your family time. I just thought maybe you'd be alone, too."

"You're coming," McCoy said, and a wave of protectiveness swept through him at the thought of Kirk being by himself. "You know Jo adores you. You've never been shy about coming over here."

"That wasn't Christmas, Bones."

"Yeah, well, I'll put it this way: I could do with someone to talk to other than my ex-wife and the man she left me for. And we've already seen how good you are at keeping me on an even keel."

"I'm sure you'll be fine."

"You'd be surprised," McCoy admitted. "Look, I was your date on the damn red carpet. Sitting down to dinner with Jocelyn can't be worse than that."

Kirk looked at him for so long that McCoy could almost hear the gears turning in that steel-trap mind of his. Finally he said, "Okay, Bones, if you put it that way."

"Great," McCoy said, clapping his hand against Kirk's bicep. "You'll see. It'll be fun."

* * *

  
It was a good idea, mostly. They'd agreed not to exchange presents, but McCoy brought Kirk a homemade cornmeal-crusted apple pie, since he'd been baking for Christmas and McCoy was pretty sure that the hippy-dippy food delivery service Gaila had Kirk on didn't include pastries. Kirk presented him with a black t-shirt that said "My favorite band doesn't exist anymore" and McCoy had to chuckle at that; he was pretty sure it would get plenty of wear.

The holiday at the Treadwells' horse ranch up in Calabassas was fine, too. Kirk's presence kept Clay from most of his usual preening, and McCoy didn't feel quite as low-ranking as he had in the past, though some of that was undoubtedly the success of the movie. Kirk didn't say anything, even privately to McCoy, but he did keep talking McCoy up, so he obviously noticed. They went out to the paddock, where Joanna was trying out the new saddle she'd received from her mother and stepfather that morning. Turned out Kirk could ride so they put him up on a horse for a bit, and while he was clearly a beginner he had a pretty good seat. When Joanna suggested that the three of them should go riding together sometime, Kirk actually blushed before saying he'd look forward to it.

Dinner was ham and sweet potatoes and creamed onions and collards with bacon, plus the yeast rolls and pecan and peach pies McCoy had brought. Jim's contribution to the dinner was a bottle of port, a basket of pears, and some lovely aged cheddar. After some conversation her parents agreed that Joanna could have a small glass, as it was just wine and it was Christmas. Joanna looked very grown up, sipping daintily at her glass and eating cheese and fruit, so much so that McCoy got a lump in his throat just looking at her.

After dinner Joanna opened her presents from McCoy and Kirk. From her father she got several of the kind of notebooks he wrote in, which she'd been eyeing lately; a few serious pens and some sillier I'm-a-teenage-girl pink gel sparkly ones; a large gift card for the iTunes store; and another gift card for her favorite clothing store. For his part, Kirk bought her a vintage dress that he "happened to find" while he was shopping. While Kirk had consulted with McCoy on size and appropriateness, McCoy was pretty sure Kirk had had some other help along the way.

It wasn't until he was driving Kirk home, a bag of leftovers for each of them in the back seat, that he saw the trouble. Kirk was quiet, contemplative, not even trying to fuss with the music, and McCoy felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

"So, Clay," Kirk said. "I guess he's from Georgia too?"

"Yep," McCoy said. "Grew up with us."

"And when did he move out here?"

"When Joss asked him to."

Kirk gave him a look, and McCoy sighed, resigned.

"Clay was always interested in Joss," he said, "but he was content to stay in Georgia and raise horses. I was the one with big plans and big dreams. I was going to sweep her out of that tiny little town, and I did. It was a little rough in the beginning, but I got lucky, caught a few breaks, and when the sitcom hit we were riding pretty high. The studio had day care so we didn't even need a nanny and Joss could get right back to dancing."

"And then?"

"And then Puri died, and I didn't have as much time to spend with them, and Joss wasn't ready to do any of it on her own."

"Sounds familiar," Kirk said under his breath.

McCoy winced; he didn't mean to remind Kirk of his own family problems. "Yeah, well, I guess that's around the time she started emailing with Clay. They'd never really lost touch, and he was more than happy to be a sympathetic ear to her troubles."

Kirk rolled his eyes. "I'm sure he was."

"He came out here on a trip, one thing led to another, and before I knew it she was gone. I wasn't paying enough attention to her; I know what kind of woman she is but I hoped that she could hang on, look at the bigger picture, think of Jo. That … didn't happen. I wrote the screenplay for the _Three to Tango_ movie in a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel."

"Talk about old Hollywood," Kirk said.

"Kinda, yeah. After the movie was over I moved into a little place in West LA, since so much of my money was tied up legally, and worked on sitcom pitches that didn't pan out."

"Yeah, I heard about that. Gotta admit, I can't imagine the networks wouldn't snap up your ideas."

"Working on a sitcom, or running one, is pretty different from coming up with the concept in the first place. Some can do both; some have great ideas but are terrible show runners, and some are like me, good at running a show but terrible at coming up with one. And that's when things really went awry. Missed a couple of payments to Joss, a visit with Joanna, and next thing I knew my ass was being hauled back into court."

Kirk reached out, putting a hand on McCoy's arm. "I'm sorry."

McCoy shrugged. "My own fault really, but Joss had a vision of making a new family, cutting me out of it entirely. She thought Jo was young enough not to remember."

"You're never young enough not to remember," Kirk said.

"Yeah," McCoy replied softly, remembering the story of Kirk's dad and then thinking of his own mother. "I'd been the one taking care of Jo before she started school, so she wasn't having it with Clay. But the judge felt otherwise, and I didn't see her much for a year or so." McCoy cleared his throat. "I, uh, I drank pretty steadily for about a month there. Felt good and sorry for myself. And then M'Benga read me the riot act and put out the word, and an old friend gave me a hand."

"The script doctoring work."

"Yep. Cleaned myself up, caught up on all my payments—which had reduced considerably when Joss married Clay—bought the place in Venice, and went back before the judge a few months later and got my joint custody back. By the time Joanna was starting at the Brentwood School, we decided it was easier for her to stay with me, and she moved in almost three years ago now. So all's well that ends well." He put on a smile.

"I dunno," Kirk said. "None of that is about you."

"What do you mean?"

"The divorce was because you couldn't give Jocelyn what she needed? As far as I can tell she didn't support you when you needed it. And your happy ending is holidays with a guy who spends his time reminding you that you're the lesser man? In front of your kid?"

"Well, when you put it that way."

"Without you, Jocelyn wouldn't be a star choreographer on TV. If she'd stayed with him she'd be teaching dance to spoiled little girls and talking about how she sacrificed her career for love."

McCoy chuckled. "Guess you've got her number," he said.

"Yeah, well, I've seen it before," Kirk said. "But I don't even understand. Instead of trying to work things out with you, Jocelyn starts having an affair, then tries to cut you out of your own kid's life because you missed a couple of payments while you were _unemployed_. And yet the way you tell it, it's like you were the one doing all the fucking up, and you were the one who needed to make amends. It takes two, Bones. She kinda fucked you over and you pretty much let her."

"Well, I—"

"And the man that I met eight months ago? He would have been _pissed off_. Where's the anger? You've certainly got plenty of it for everyone else."

McCoy wasn't sure what part of this Kirk couldn't understand; it was pretty simple to him. "The important thing was getting Joanna back and being a good father."

"And you did, and you are. But that doesn't mean you have to accept all this humiliation."

"Now you sound like M'Benga," McCoy replied.

"Good!" Kirk said. "I'm glad there was _someone_ saying this to you back then, even if you didn't listen to him."

McCoy sighed, and they were silent for a bit, listening to Dinah Washington wishing them Merry Christmas in three-quarter time.

"It just sounds lonely," Kirk said.

"I've had Joanna," McCoy said.

"Yeah, but don't you miss having a partner?" Kirk asked.

"Sometimes," he admitted. Kirk's exit was just ahead, and McCoy turned off the 101 and onto one of the roads leading into the Hollywood Hills.

"Next Christmas, I think we can find something better to do," Kirk said.

"We?" McCoy asked.

"Well, uh, sure, I mean, if nothing's changed," Kirk stammered. "If nothing's changed, then I am pretty sure that you and I can find something better to do than sit around in Calabassas while Clay Treadwell comes all over your face and you thank him for it."

"That's … quite an image there, Jim."

"It's accurate," he said with a shrug. "And you know, I don't think it's good for Joanna to watch that, either."

"Yeah," McCoy said. "Maybe not."

As McCoy pulled into the driveway, Kirk said, "It's late. You should stay."

"Oh, I'll be all right," McCoy said.

"No," Kirk said. "You wanted me to come with you, so now you're going to stay with me, and tomorrow we'll have an awesome day."

McCoy raised one eyebrow. "Kirk, you aren't going to—"

"On Christmas?" Kirk asked. "When we're both all kinds of vulnerable? What do you take me for?"

"Just checking."

"I mean, talk about _clichéd_! Geez, Bones, give me _some_ credit."

"I'm sorry, Jim," McCoy said, but he couldn't help smiling a little at Kirk's indignation.

"We'll just cuddle," he pronounced.

And the oddest thing was, that's exactly what they did. They watched a movie and drank some more wine and very purposefully did not have sex—he could feel Kirk holding back just as much as he was. But they did hold each other, McCoy thinking about all that Kirk had said about Jocelyn, about Carol, about Joanna. He couldn't quite get it all straight in his mind, and after a while he stopped trying.

* * *

  
A week later, Uhura had a stylish New Year's Eve party at her little house in West LA.

"How was your trip to New York?" McCoy asked.

"Amazing," she said. "Fantastic."

McCoy raised his eyebrows. "Romantic?"

"Yes," she said, smiling a little. "Obvious?"

"Only a little," McCoy said, smiling back. "Kirk said you got Spock to talk to his father?"

"It was awkward," Uhura admitted, "but it was a start, and that's what's important."

"Yeah," he said, looking across the room at where Kirk and Spock were deep in conversation.

"And you took Kirk with you for Christmas?" she asked.

McCoy chuckled. "Look at us," he said. "We talk about them like they're strays we took in."

She shrugged. "Aren't they?" she asked. "A little skittish at first, but if you feed them regularly and show them some genuine affection, they'll not only stay, they'll guard your door."

"Huh," McCoy said. "I think you're right."

"Geoffrey!" Uhura called out.

McCoy turned and saw his friend. "M'Benga," he said. "I didn't realize you two were friends."

Uhura waved her hand. "We go way back."

"C'mon, McCoy, I keep telling you," he said, "all the black folks in Hollywood know each other."

After exchanging holiday pleasantries with M'Benga, Uhura excused herself to see to her other guests.

"Well, look at you," M'Benga said.

"What?" McCoy asked.

"I thought the whole buddy-buddy with Kirk was just part of the publicity machine, since you never mention him," M'Benga said, "but you two seem pretty tight tonight."

"Well, you know, Kirk's a good guy," McCoy replied. "And yeah, he's kinda latched on, but I think he's just been a little lost."

M'Benga nodded, humming.

"What?" McCoy asked.

"Nothing," M'Benga said.

"No really, what?"

M'Benga looked McCoy in the eye. "I think he's not the only one who's been a little lost, is all," he said.

"Huh," McCoy said. "Well, you'll be glad to know that he shares your opinion of Joss and Clay. Came with me to Calabassas for the holiday and man did he light into me in the car on the way home."

"You brought him up to that nightmare of country kitsch? Really?" M'Benga asked. "You must trust him."

"Yeah, well, he talked me up all day to Clay," McCoy replied. "You know, the movie and all that."

"Well, that makes me like him even better," M'Benga said. "You gotta stop settling for scraps, Len."

Kirk, showing his usual infallible timing, came bounding up at that moment. "Bones!" he shouted, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "It's ten minutes to midnight! You still gonna give me a peck?"

"What have you been drinking?" McCoy asked.

Kirk looked at his glass. "The champagne punch." He looked up. "Hey, you're M'Benga! You've done a very good job with Bones's _body_."

"Thanks!" M'Benga said. "He helped. Hasn't missed a single day of personal training since he met you." He looked at McCoy and winked.

"Whoa," Kirk said. "Maybe I'm a good influence too!"

"Or maybe," McCoy said, "I just wanted to keep in shape for all those damn photo shoots you want me to do."

"Maybe," M'Benga said, draining his glass. "Well, I should go get another before the clock strikes. Excuse me."

As he walked away McCoy turned to Kirk. "Just how drunk are you?" he asked.

"Not at all," Kirk replied. "But when you pretend you are, you can say what you actually want to say and everyone just laughs. It's handy."

"I'll bet," McCoy said, rolling his eyes. "Well, come on, let's get our glass of champagne for midnight."

"So are you going to give me that kiss?" Kirk asked.

"I don't know if you deserve it."

"Of course I do! I've been a very good boy. I made two whole movies this year."

"Okay, then I'll give you that kiss. But you try to slip me the tongue and I'll bite it off."

"Aw, Bones," Kirk said. "You are seriously _no fun_."

Later, when Kirk and McCoy were nearly the last ones there, sitting on the sectional with Uhura and Spock, Kirk said, "You know what we should do? We should form a production company."

"Jim, we already have one," Spock said patiently.

"Yeah, but we don't do anything with it," Kirk said. "I mean a real one, with the four of us. One where we develop scripts and get people to direct them, people who aren't me."

Uhura and McCoy looked at each other and back at Kirk. "What are you saying?" McCoy asked.

"You two both have television experience," Kirk said, "and I bet you could take a script from boring to awesome, and we all know all kinds of people, and why not? Carol can't be a spy forever, and while we're developing stuff for me why not develop stuff for other people? McCoy can write more scripts that are his and maybe ease up on the doctoring gig, and Uhura I know you don't want to be hanging around under Pike for much longer. We'll be like United Artists!"

"That was a studio, not a production company," Uhura said.

"But you know what I mean!" Kirk said.

McCoy cocked his head. "You're serious?"

"Like a heart attack," Kirk said. "We could do that Fitzgerald pirate movie, Bones. It could be _amazing_. Can't you see it?"

"Trouble is, I can," McCoy said. "I can see it clear as day."

"You don't sound happy about it," Kirk grumbled. "Nyota?"

"It _would_ be a broader scope than my role at Fleet," she said. "I'm interested."

"Spock?" Kirk asked.

"I am surprised you asked," Spock said.

"Formality," Kirk said.

"Quite," Spock replied.

"So was that a yes, Bones?" Kirk asked.

McCoy looked around at the other three. "Why not?" he said. "Let's do it."

"We'll come up with a super cool name," Kirk said. "And we'll be _inspired_ and _smart_ and _passionate_ and _soulful_ and it will be awesome!"

"Are you drunk?" McCoy asked. "Or is this one of your pretending to be drunk to say outrageous things moments?"

Kirk grinned. "That's up to you, Bones," he said.

* * *

  
Of course the holidays were just a pause in the action. Come Monday it was full speed ahead: less than a week to the Globes; Oscar nominees would be named ten days after that; the Oscars themselves were in just seven weeks; and in between there were all the guild awards—WGAs, DGAs, Producer's Guild, and the SAGs which unlike the others were televised with a red carpet (Kirk just rolled his eyes and said, "Actors")—plus any number of critic's circle presentations, not to mention that McCoy, thanks to his work on the soundtrack, had finagled himself two tickets to the Grammys. Jean-Luc had to draw up a schedule for all of them to make sure someone could represent the film at all these ceremonies and that they would all be in attendance at the big ones. Never had McCoy been more glad that his calendar was shared with Jocelyn, so there were no surprises, and that Jean-Luc knew well enough to keep his air travel to a bare minimum.

It also meant that McCoy suddenly had to buy a few new suits, something he hadn't needed in years, and Kirk and Joanna were only too happy to take him shopping at Barney's. He refused a stylist but acquiesced to a personal shopper, a dapper young man with thick glasses named Geordi who helped referee a long argument between his two helpers regarding the lapels on his tuxedo. McCoy was just happy to get a jacket that he could move his shoulders in.

The SAG nominations had been announced before Christmas, but the other guild nominations came in quickly after the new year, and Spock and Uhura, Kirk and McCoy were all nominated by their respective organizations. McCoy put down his own predictions, sealed them in an envelope, and gave them to Chapel for safe keeping. He figured he'd get the WGA, in part because it was a writerly script, in part because he had a lot of good friends in the membership, and in part because of the comeback story, which had caught on while they promoted the film. Kirk might get the DGA, as he had a lot of good will among the pros and was seen as a Hollywood guy. But _The Cloud Minders_ was sweeping most of the critic's circle awards, and _Narada_ had made a hundred million dollars in its opening weekend. Since McCoy didn't think they had a shot at any of the bigger awards, he decided to just enjoy the ride.

* * *

  
The Globes were just as much of a drunken revelry as McCoy had remembered, especially since the ceremony had been cancelled the year before due to the strike. It did seem strange to be sitting up front with the movie people instead of further back with the TV folks. The _Narada_ table was front and center, of course; the _That Which Survives_ crew was seated near the stage but a bit off to the side.

"So," McCoy said, leaning over to Kirk, "looks like Scotty and Gaila are still on."

Kirk glanced across the table. "Yeah, Gaila said they were dating. Which is weird because she never dates."

"Didn't you date her?" he asked.

"Not really," Kirk replied. "We had fun. She usually doesn't take romance very seriously. But do you think Chekov and Sulu are doing it?"

Chekov and Sulu were sitting next to each other, but not talking—Chekov was laughing with Khan and Gaila, Sulu listening to Spock—but there were little brushes of the sort men who were not intimate generally avoided. (Well, he and Kirk didn't, but they _had_ fucked.)

"Definitely," McCoy said. "But they're doing a good job of hiding it."

"They'll have to," Kirk said.

Nero came by then, his bald head gleaming in the lights and his jacket stretched tight around his muscular frame; suddenly McCoy was glad for that Barney's trip. There were were fake smiles all around as they got up to shake his hand, exchange congrats on the movies and the nominations and the best-lists, and McCoy could see the tightness around Kirk's mouth but he was damn good with the fake Hollywood bullshit—a lot better than McCoy himself had ever been.

"And this is?" he asked, looking at McCoy.

He leaned forward to introduce himself. "Leonard McCoy."

"He wrote the script," Kirk said, putting one hand against McCoy's back.

"Ah, a _writer_ ," Nero said, with all the usual condescension. "I'm a writer as well, you know."

"Yes, I've noticed," McCoy said, as neutrally as he could manage.

"Why have two people when one will do, am I right?" Nero asked, chuckling.

"With the time I've spent doctoring scripts," McCoy replied, "I'd say it's more, why not get someone to do it right the first time?"

"Script doctor, script doctor," Nero said, snapping his fingers. "Say, you worked in _television_ , didn't you? I knew your name sounded familiar."

McCoy didn't say, "Maybe because the star of your last action film brought me in to rewrite all of his lines and you didn't even notice." Instead he said, "Best training ground for screenwriting I can think of."

"Is that a fact?" Nero asked. He looked around. "Oh, they're signaling for us to sit!" He shook Kirk's hand again. "Good luck!"

"You too!" Kirk said, and they sat back down. "Ugh," he muttered to McCoy, "I'm glad _that's_ over."

"What a hack," McCoy said.

No real host meant a cold open from the announcer and presenters wandering onto the stage. The show began with a few TV awards, then got to the supporting actors. Gaila lost, but kept smiling; Khan won, surprising no one in the room. He went up on stage to much applause, thanked Kirk and McCoy and Spock, his fellow actors, and the crew, thanked everyone who hadn't forgotten about him, and ended with a kiss for his late wife. Classy, brief, emotional—what anyone would expect from an old pro.

Chekov got his moment on stage presenting the clip from _That Which Survives_. McCoy watched him standing as though he lived in tuxedos and wondered at the kid's poise; you'd never know he was barely eighteen, or that there had been an entire bleacher of girls screaming his name a few hours earlier. McCoy sneaked a look at Sulu out of the corner of his eye, and his face had the carefully neutral expression one puts on when one's feelings are anything but. It was actually kind of sweet.

After that, it was the _Narada_ show, though the _That Which Survives_ crew also cheered loyally for the three Globes won by _Bread and Circuses_. Screenplay, at least, went Mark Piper for _The Cloud Minders_ rather than Nero, so McCoy's applause was sincere on that one. (Even better, since Piper had written an adapted screenplay, they wouldn't be competing against each other again.) And April and Poole got their lead actor and actress awards. But Nero did manage to snag both director and best picture, and spent a lot of time saying "woo!" into the microphone and prancing around the stage ridiculously. Kirk smiled for the cameras throughout, but his hands were digging into the side of his chair.

The second the all clear sounded, Kirk stood up. "Okay crew," he said, "let's get out of here before they come back from the press room."

"Aye, Cap'n," Scotty said. "I don't need to listen to _that_ peacock anymore tonight!"

The Fleet party was saved by the _Bread and Circuses_ wins. Gaila and Uhura weren't the only ties between the show and Kirk's film; McCoy had some old acquaintances among the writers and producers, and Khan was in talks to do a featured role during the next season. McCoy wasn't sure when it had become his habit to keep one eye on Kirk, but he realized he'd never seen the man work a party that wasn't his own. And did he work it—he had all of the actresses who played girls in Gaila's brothel on _Bread and Circuses_ hanging off his every word. Yet every time he got up to get a drink, he made a point to come by McCoy and tease him ("You don't have to only talk to the writers, you know; the party is for everyone").

"What's that like?" one of the writers asked.

"What?" McCoy asked.

"Being so in with Kirk the wunderkind," he replied.

"Oh," McCoy said, blinking. "Well, I was a wunderkind once, too," he said. "What makes you think _he_ isn't in with _me_?"

* * *

  
When the BAFTA nominations were announced, McCoy was honored but also relieved that since Kevin Riley had got him those tickets to the Grammys, which were on the same night, he wouldn't have to fly back to London. He wasn't entirely sure he had it in him, especially in the midst of all this activity, even if Kirk held his hand the entire way. Work and routine were the only things saving him in the two weeks between the Globe ceremony and the announcement of the Oscar nominations. _That Which Survives_ might have made its money back, but it wasn't in the black quite yet due to the opacity of Hollywood accounting , so he was still actively script doctoring to pay the mortgage. He had two scripts to punch up before February, so he just put his head down and worked. Or really, worked as best he could with an unoccupied Jim Kirk texting him every few hours.

>   
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  how about Enterprise?
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  You mean, do I have any?
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  no as a name for the production company
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  It sounds like an frontier town in Wyoming
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  maybe that should be our logo!
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  Spock has Jean-Luc looking for office space.
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  What's wrong with your bungalow at Fleet?
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  And have you talked to Pike about this at all?
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  it's been discussed. i can get first look out of him
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  So why not space? I don't need much room and Uhura is already there
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  that's the sticking point. he's annoyed she's leaving him for us
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  I don't blame him. She's a keeper.
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  working today?
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  Trying to!
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  so does that mean I can come for dinner, or I can't?
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  bones?
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  um, you gonna answer me here or leave me hanging?
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  If I say you can come over, will you leave me be until then?
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  of course!
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  All right, see you around seven
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  hey, I could pick up Joanna! I'm closer to her now than you are and then you could work EVEN LONGER
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  Fine, I'll text her to let her know
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  see bones? I am SO HELPFUL
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  Yeah, Jim, that's the word for it.

* * *

  
Joanna not only made sure he was awake for the Oscar nominations, she invited Kirk, who thought there should be a little breakfast party, which Gaila decided to cater, so they all squeezed into McCoy's living room to eat a remarkably tasty tofu scramble thing with Indian spices and watch, bleary-eyed, as the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences made their announcements. Even Khan was there, sitting in the easy chair in the corner and smiling benevolently at them all, and McCoy wondered at how far they'd come.

It was torture mostly because the nominees were announced alphabetically by the name of the film, so they would groan at the _Narada_ nomination before getting to cheer on their own. They got five in all: Gaila, Khan, McCoy, Kirk, and the film. _Narada_ got ten, with many more in the visual effects, editing, costume design, art direction, and the like but none at all in acting. _The Cloud Minders_ also made a strong showing, sweeping all of the big four awards (film, direction, lead actor and actress) plus screenplay and score.

"Well!" Khan said. "Remember, they can never take this away from you. Even you, Chekov—you weren't nominated, but being the lead in a nominated film is recognition in itself, especially for someone so young."

Chekov nodded solemnly. "Yes, sir," he said.

"Good," Khan said, clapping his hands once. "Now where's that champagne? Can't drink orange juice without champagne."

Joanna looked up at McCoy with big eyes, and McCoy shook his head. "Yeah, I'm going to send you into school liquored up? Not likely, young lady."

"Aww, Dad, come on!" she said.

"You'll just have to wait until the Governor's Ball," he said.

Joanna stopped short. "You mean?"

"Who else would I bring but my best girl?" McCoy asked, and was pretty sure the ensuing shriek could be heard in Santa Barbara.

* * *

  
It was after the Oscar noms were announced that strange things started to happen. The Producer's Guild Awards were two days later, so they all filled a table to support Spock and Uhura, and _That Which Survives_ actually won Best Theatrical Picture. Nero looked somewhat surprised, but seemed to brush it off.

The next night at the SAGs, Gaila and Khan both won their awards, and with Chekov won Outstanding Performance by a Cast. _Narada_ wasn't even nominated , not being much of an actor's film (few of Nero's movies were), but it was still a boost for the _That Which Survives_ crew. April and Poole won again for lead actor and actress, continuing the momentum for _The Cloud Minders_.

A week later, much to almost everyone's surprise (but not McCoy's), Kirk won the Director's Guild Award. Kirk was pleased enough when Khan led the tribute to him as a nominee, but McCoy thought Kirk might burst as he got up on stage to accept his award. He was grinning from ear to ear, shaking his head, and finally said, "Seriously? You guys sure about this?" He talked about his admiration for his peers, thanked all of his "crew" including Carol, and closed with, "This might be my best night in Hollywood, ever."

* * *

  
If the period before the nominations had been quiet, the period after was anything but. The three major guild awards increased the Oscar buzz around _That Which Survives_ exponentially; now they were seen as real contenders, if underdogs compared to sentimental favorite _The Cloud Minders_ or the behemoth that was _Narada_. The nominations also increased box office. Now there was a chance for real profits, and with so many of them having points deals this was welcome news.

McCoy was glad he'd finished his work during the earlier lulls, because now his days were full of interviews and luncheons. At least Kirk was standing by his side, or he would have been entirely overwhelmed. He certainly knew why people said it was an honor just to be nominated, because all of the attention fell during this pre-Oscar period. And as Khan had said, he would always be an Oscar-nominated screenwriter, no matter what else happened.

Kirk pouted a bit at having to go to London without McCoy, but McCoy just patted his head and gave him a short list of people to thank if he needed to accept a BAFTA on McCoy's behalf. "Take care of Gaila for Scotty," he said. "He's worried she only loves him for his accent and will be spirited away by James McAvoy."

"He's an idiot," Kirk said, "and I'm just a substitute for another guy."

McCoy shook his head. "References to lyrics from The Who won't get you far with me, Jim."

"No one knows what it's like to be the sad man, Bones!"

"If Townsend shows up at the Grammys I'll get you his autograph," McCoy said. "Now go."

Kirk's eyebrows went up. "Anyone from Zeppelin is good, too," he said.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "I'll keep that in mind," he said.

The Farragut Agency, where Chapel and Rand worked, was having a BAFTA viewing party in the afternoon, eight p.m. London time being noon LA time, so McCoy and Joanna ate lunch there before the Grammys. At Joanna's insistence they brought their evening clothes in garment bags to keep them pristine, though McCoy thought it was rather silly as they were just wearing nice jeans and vintage band T-shirts (R.E.M. for McCoy, Madonna for Joanna). Chapel had promised to do Joanna's makeup as well.

As they mingled just before the awards, McCoy took advantage of Rand having led Joanna off to get more pastry to ask Chapel, "So, you were at that infamous party Jim Kirk threw for the rough cut of _Armageddon_ , I hear?"

Chapel glanced over at Rand and Joanna, then pulled McCoy into the corner. "What do you want to know?" she asked.

McCoy raised his eyebrows. "When you put it that way, everything."

Chapel sighed. "Well, I'll say this. Miri is a very young girl, and because she's had a cable show with her name on it for six years she thinks that she can play with the adults. That was where the trouble really started. I don't think anyone was ever really parenting her, poor kid."

"Same old story, unfortunately," McCoy said. "So Jim said she was possessive—did she start up trouble about Carol or something?"

"No!" Chapel said, shaking her had. "Not Carol—Janice."

"Janice? Your girlfriend-his agent Janice Rand?"

"Yes. Miri thought he was too attentive to Jan at the party. Jan and Jim have always been thick as thieves; that's why they're so successful. But Miri didn't like it, and she let Jan know about it, and Jan of course told her to mind her own business—"

"Of course," McCoy said, because if Janice Rand felt that someone was misbehaving she generally let them have it.

"And Miri slapped her across the face. Scratched her cheek, she was bleeding and everything."

"Oh, god. And Jim—"

"Lit into her. He was _furious_. I didn't hear all of it, because Sulu and I had taken Jan into the bathroom to patch her up, but by the time we were back in the living room Jim had broken up with her and Scotty was trying to talk him out of just dumping her into a cab. But then some folks from Fleet, Deanna Troi and that publicist boyfriend of hers, agreed to make sure she got home okay, call her friends, that sort of thing."

"Wow."

"Yeah. We left quickly after that, of course, but I heard the party pretty much broke up anyway."

"And then Janice moved in with you?" McCoy asked.

"Well," Chapel said, smiling, "she finally decided that she wanted to be more open about us, about her sexuality, all of it. We'd always been out at work, but she thought maybe she could avoid more trouble this way."

McCoy looked over to Rand, who was still talking to Joanna. "She sure is a looker," he said. "And a catch."

"Tell me about it," Chapel said.

Farragut represented several British clients so there was much interest in the television portion of the show, but ears still perked up when they started the film awards. Khan and Gaila won again, and both were charming in their speeches. (Gaila even thanked Scotty, though not by name—she called him "my visual engineer"—which McCoy hoped would allay some of Scotty's anxiety.) As the nominees for original screenplay were announced, a hush came over the room.

The presenter opened the envelope. "Leonard McCoy, for _That Which Survives_!"

Chapel, Rand and Joanna jumped up, shouting, and the others broke into applause. McCoy got hugs and handshakes aplenty as, on the screen, Kirk made his way to the stage.

"McCoy isn't with us tonight because he's terrified of planes. I don't even know how we got him here back in October. " The crowd laughed, and Kirk grinned. " He wanted me to thank his agent Christine Chapel, his beloved daughter Joanna, everyone at Fleet Pictures, the entire cast and crew, oh, and me." Kirk looked into the camera. "You're welcome! And I'd like to add to that, in case we're not up here again, a huge thanks to the city of London. You all were early fans and champions of this movie, and we couldn't have asked for a better place to have the world premiere than here at the London Film Festival." He paused, waiting out the applause. "I also want to thank McCoy himself. I joked about his being afraid to fly, but he is one of the bravest men I know. He took a painful moment in his own life and transformed it into a story for all of us, and that took real guts. So, thank you British Academy of Film and Television Arts, and thank you, Leonard McCoy."

McCoy blinked back a few tears, listening to Kirk's acceptance. It reminded him of Jocelyn and Joanna's reactions to the truth of what had happened, and that Kirk found a way to say this in public—thousands of miles away, no less—made him all the more grateful that it had been Kirk to direct the film, Kirk who had pushed for it to be made. About twenty minutes later Kirk did get an award of his own, as did Spock and Uhura, and McCoy felt warm all over. He'd started his career belonging to a team, being in the writer's room, and now after all this time he was back on a team again, and it felt good. It felt right.

He sent a text to Kirk as soon as the show was over:

>   
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  I should have you accept all my awards
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  you saw that already?
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  There is such a thing as a satellite
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  Are you saying you didn't mean for me to see it?
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  maybe not right away
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  I thought it was real nice, Jim
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  Thanks, Bones.
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  you should have seen Nero's face when we won, ha ha
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  I'll bet
> 
> _Kirk— >McCoy_  
>  get your music geek on tonight and I'll see you in a couple of days
> 
> _McCoy— >Kirk_  
>  have fun tonight yourself

* * *

  
The Writers' Guild Awards were two days later, so Kirk and the others came right back from London to go support McCoy. Kirk even shared a car with him, though it made no geographic sense whatsoever.

"So how was London?" McCoy asked.

"We all missed you! There were tons of girls crawling all over Khan, kind of a hit to my ego."

"No girls for Jim Kirk?" McCoy asked.

"Hey, you told me to take care of Gaila," Kirk said. "And anyway, as you've said, been there, done that."

McCoy cocked his head. "So this not chasing lots of girls really is permanent," McCoy said.

"I think so. I like it better, anyway." Kirk tapped his fingers on his knee. "How was the Grammys?"

McCoy smiled. "I have something for you," he said, and pulled out his Grammy program and opened it to the page of Album of the Year nominees.

Kirk picked it up and read, "To Jim Kirk, Thanks for the lovely films. Good luck at the Oscars! Robert Plant." Kirk turned to McCoy. "Seriously?"

"Ran into him at one of the parties. He's a fan of the movie, congratulated me, and when he realized you'd directed it and the spy movies both he was happy to sign something for you."

"Wow," Kirk said, looking down at it again. "I mean, thanks. This is—thanks, Bones."

"Of course," McCoy said.

"Did you meet anyone you wanted to meet?" Kirk asked.

"Yeah, you know, Kevin Riley got us into some nice parties. Joanna met Justin Timberlake, so I can coast on that one for a while."

Kirk chuckled.

"And I met Thom Yorke, so that was amazing."

Kirk turned to him. "Really? And you didn't like, explode or something?"

"Joanna said I was very cool," he replied, shaking his head. "I didn't feel cool, but I'm good at faking it."

"Man I never get star struck any more," Kirk said, "except when it comes to certain musicians."

"Me too," McCoy said. "You should go next year."

"Yeah, maybe I should," Kirk said.

At the awards dinner, McCoy was so anxious he could scarcely eat. This was the award he really wanted, the one he'd be truly disappointed if he didn't get, and he just wanted the whole thing to be _over_. At least Nero and his team weren't there, as _Narada_ hadn't been nominated by the guild, so McCoy didn't have to deal with the bitchery from that corner. He glad-handed around a bit before the start, talking to old friends and meeting a few new folks. The television awards were handed out, and then Mark Piper got best adapted screenplay for _The Cloud Minders_. McCoy tensed as his category came up, and Kirk patted him on the shoulder.

When they called his name, the first thing he heard was Kirk giving a loud shout. He stood up and Kirk hugged him, then when he didn't show signs of moving, turned him and pushed him toward the podium. He took the award and then turned, looking out at all of his colleagues, his former coworkers, his strike buddies not so long ago. McCoy took a deep breath, and then began to speak.

"I'm just glad that my friend Mark adapted a screenplay!" The audience laughed, and McCoy smiled just a little. "I've stood around in a lot of rooms since this movie was started, talking to a lot of folks, and getting praise from many of them, but this. I've been a producer, and I've been a show runner, but in my heart I'm a writer, and always will be." He got applause for that line, though the crowd was admittedly biased.

"I've got to thank my agent Christine Chapel who stood by this script after it had been passed on by just about everyone else in Hollywood. And our entire cast and crew who were just amazing, making these words come to life; everyone at Fleet for giving us some money to go make it even though they didn't have any thought they'd make any kind of profit on it, and when can you say _that_ about a studio?" He paused as the others laughed. "Thanks to Spock and Nyota Uhura, who couldn't have been more caring about this film if they had written it. Thanks to Jim Kirk, the man who read the script and pushed the hardest for it to be made. I'm very proud to be one of those who call him Captain. But most of all, thanks to my father, David, who showed me how to be a man, and was the kind of father I hope to be for my beloved daughter Joanna. Thank you."

There was more drinking and talking that night, and pictures were taken, and McCoy was so relieved he found himself grinning from ear to ear.

"You look so _happy_ , Bones," Kirk said.

"I am," McCoy replied. "I got the one I really wanted."

Kirk raised his eyebrows. "What about the Oscar?" he asked.

McCoy shrugged. "I don't know that I need anything else, Jim," he said, and at that moment, he meant it.


	10. Climax

  
Several things must occur at the climax of the film: the hero must face the biggest obstacle of the entire story; she must determine her own fate; and the outer motivation must be resolved once and for all.

_February, 2009_

Like so many other things, it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Joanna was stressed out about her dress for the Oscars, and couldn't go to her mother because according to McCoy, "Joss would show up to the Oscars in a fedora and a macrame dress if you let her" and that really wasn't Joanna's style at all. Carol's stylist owed her a favor, and Carol and Kirk had always had good luck with her. And Carol owed _Kirk_ kind of a huge favor since he'd just coached her through having a baby and all. So Carol's stylist agreed to take care of Joanna for the Oscars.

But on the appointed day, about a week before the ceremony, the stylist had to send an assistant because she was needed elsewhere. The assistant didn't seem entirely happy to be sent on the assignment, but she was professional and the dresses she'd pulled were all pretty and age-appropriate.

Problem was, they were also all sample sizes, which Joanna was not.

"You know, honey," the woman said, "if you want to make it in this town you're gonna have to lose that pudge."

Cue a teenage girl blinking back tears.

Cue a father turning into an enraged bear.

"What the _hell_?" McCoy said. "Get out of my house!"

"Excuse me?" the woman asked.

"Jim, she'd better be gone when I come back out," McCoy said. He wrapped an arm around Joanna and led her back into her bedroom.

"Mr. Kirk, you know as well as I do that when she goes up for parts—"

"She's not pudgy; she's just normal-sized. And she's not an actress," Kirk said, still trying to work out what went so horribly wrong. "She's the daughter of a nominated writer."

The woman looked offended. "Then why am I here?" she asked.

"I don't really know," Kirk said. "To do the job you were hired to do, maybe? Which you didn't, so you'd better go."

As he watched the woman packing up, he could feel the panic coming on. But he was _not_ going to fail Joanna. Spock would be of no help, so he called his other fail-safe: Carol. "Yeah, we have a problem. The assistant brought only sample sizes and called Joanna fat, so now she's crying and Bones is fuming."

"Not good," Carol said.

"That's an understatement," Kirk replied.

"Okay, give me two hours, and don't go anywhere. Distract them. It's almost lunchtime anyway."

So Kirk got them all lunch from In-N-Out Burger and told ridiculous stories about Carol until Joanna got a little smile on her face. It was around then that Carol arrived, along with little David in his car seat and a stylish diaper bag of enormous proportions.

"Okay," she said. "You two are going to watch him, and Joanna and I are going to go shopping. Leonard, I assume you know what to do with a baby. Everything you should need is in the bag. He was just fed and is sleeping it off now, but he'll need another bottle in not too long." She turned to Joanna. "Ready?"

Joanna nodded.

"Let's go, the car is waiting outside," she said, and shepherded Joanna out the door not five minutes after she'd arrived.

McCoy turned to Kirk. "What was _that_?" he asked.

Kirk shrugged. "That was Carol," he replied.

He cocked his head. "She helped you buy that dress for Jo, didn't she?"

"A gentleman never tells," Kirk said, smiling.

"Well, just so you know," McCoy went on, "she's planning on wearing yours to the big spring dance."

Kirk grinned. "Really? That's so excellent!"

Four hours later, Kirk had learned that David really wanted to be held, or sit in his Snugli against one of their chests, when he wasn't being fed; that if McCoy was anything to go by, changing diapers was like riding a bike; and that breast milk wasn't nearly as weird in practice as it had always seemed to him in concept. Other than the physical touch requirement David was a pretty mellow infant, and Kirk figured he'd probably been handled by so many Marcus sisters at this point that he was used to new people swooping in and taking care of him. Kirk had been thinking about David off and on since he'd helped him into the world, but he found that David was hard to think about for too long, because it was just weird. Sure, Kirk had nephews and stuff, but his brother Sam had always been fatherly to him growing up. And McCoy, of course, was all Dad. But Carol wasn't really the motherly type. Yet here David was, all helpless and dependent and big-eyed and saying "take care of me" and you couldn't not do it.

When Joanna returned she looked dazed, which was par for the course when someone experienced the full-court press of Carol Marcus for the first time. She also had three dresses to show her father, and she ran into her room to change into the first one.

"Carol," McCoy said, "I hate to ask—"

Carol held up her hand. "My fault entirely," she said, "so my treat."

"I appreciate that, but—"

"No," she said flatly, sitting down. "Consider it your payment for taking care of David today. How was he?"

Kirk looked down to where David was asleep on his chest. "He was fine."

Carol nodded. "Mom says he's the most low maintenance baby she's ever seen," Carol said. "And before you say it, I have _no idea_ where he gets it from. Certainly not me."

Joanna modeled the three looks, and they all agreed that the violet dress with the full skirt and princess neckline was the winner. "I know you don't care for your mother's taste in clothes," McCoy said, "but I'm pretty sure she'll have some jewelry to go with that. We'll pack it up for the weekend so she can see it in person."

"Okay, Dad," she said. She walked over to Carol. "Thanks!" she said, and gave her a big hug.

"Oh!" Carol said. "You're welcome!"

"Thanks, Jim," she said, giving him a kiss atop the head as she walked by since he still had David curled against his chest.

"I didn't do anything," Kirk said.

"You made it all happen!" Joanna said, and went back into her room.

Kirk turned to Carol. "What's that expression for?" he asked.

"What expression?" Carol asked.

"The one you get when you're scheming," Kirk replied.

"I wasn't scheming," she said. "Leonard, that was awfully classy of you, making sure your ex-wife is involved."

"Oh, well," McCoy said, "if she hadn't looked after Joanna this summer there wouldn't have been an Oscars for us in the first place."

"Then you're both classy," she said.

"I guess so," he said, and Kirk kept his face carefully neutral.

Joanna came back into the living room, now back in her jeans, and sat on the couch next to Kirk. "He's so little," she said.

Carol smiled. "Do you want to hold him?" she asked.

"Can I?" she asked, her eyes widening.

"Sure," Carol said. "You hold him while we pack up his life, and then you can put him in his seat."

Kirk handed him over, and Joanna was transfixed. "His mouth is perfect," she said.

Kirk laughed. "I think you've got another sitter for when you run out of sisters, Carol," he said.

"I think so," Carol said, and smiled.

* * *

  
Winona came into town the day before Oscars. Mother and son knew that a visit of longer than three days wasn't good for either of them, but Kirk also couldn't imagine taking anyone else with him to the ceremony. It would be cute, Kirk there with his mom and McCoy there with his daughter. Kirk had never been nominated before and had only attended once, right after the first Bibi Besch movie, as Carol's escort when she presented an award. That was crazy enough, and Carol took so much time getting ready that they were nearly late, probably the last ones to go in, though Kirk always wondered if she hadn't planned that so the photographers could get the best view of her dress. You never knew with Carol.

Kirk got up around eight and went for a swim, then zipped down to the Waffle House with Winona to meet up with his crew. From there, Gaila and Uhura took Joanna and Winona over to Carol's house to get ready. Carol's price from her stylist for the debacle with Joanna was to do the accessories for all the ladies, and arrange for hair and makeup at her house. It was a nice treat for Winona and Joanna, and Kirk was grateful for it; Winona and Carol had always gotten along.

The men, including Chekov, Scotty and Sulu, went to Kirk's place for the best Rock Band tournament _ever_ , which kept at least some of the nerves away. Even still, McCoy was looking a little green around the gills. They had a late lunch of quesadillas before Geordi, McCoy's personal shopper from Barney's, showed up with a men's barber in tow, some enormous man named Worf. While Geordi made sure they all had the right socks and cufflinks and studs and whatever else to go with their tuxes, Worf wrestled their hair and critiqued their shaves. Even Spock was coiffed to perfection before they were allowed to get into the cars and go get the ladies. Khan met up with them there, and some pictures were taken before they finally got on their way to Hollywood and the usual completely insane traffic.

Kirk was in a car with his mother, McCoy and Joanna. McCoy had teared up when he saw Joanna, though Kirk was pretty sure he'd deny it if asked. Winona was striking as ever in the soft blue dress her son had bought for her, her greying hair in an elaborate up do. She had also, apparently, spent some time with the baby.

"That David is a charmer," she said.

"He's pretty great," Kirk agreed. "Kinda chill."

"Yes, he's a happy baby," she said.

Kirk nodded, but said nothing; he really didn't want to know Winona's thoughts on babies. He'd always tried to be understanding of his mother's difficulties after his father died, but when he'd taken care of David that afternoon at McCoy's house, and held him in his arms, he couldn't imagine looking at a helpless little baby like that and not wanting to do everything for them. And that wasn't a conversation to have with Winona in a limo headed to the Academy Awards. "What stars do you want me to introduce you to, Mom?" he asked.

"Oh I don't know," she said. "I wouldn't mind seeing Chris Pike again, if he's there."

"He'll be at the party afterwards," Kirk said. "I'll make sure you get some time to talk to him. No one else?"

"You're my star, Jim," she said, and Kirk decided to believe it, if only for the night.

"Thanks, Mom," Kirk said. "Let's listen to some music, can we do that, driver?"

"I've got my iPhone here," McCoy said.

Kirk smiled. "Of course you do, Bones," he said, and they listened to R.E.M. all the way to the theater—appropriate, since that band now always made him think of Georgia, and _That Which Survives_ , and riding in a car with McCoy.

Will Riker was waiting at the end of the red carpet to wrangle them down the line of press. Some of the fans on the bleachers were shouting Kirk's name, so he signed a few things before heading over to the bank of photographers. Riker kept he and McCoy together as they moved along the press line, answering the same questions they had been since the nominations were announced but with the added, "Ralph Lauren" for Kirk and "Calvin Klein" for McCoy. McCoy actually kept his cool pretty well, maybe because Joanna was there, and maybe because it was finally almost over.

They got inside with thirty minutes to spare. Winona and Joanna headed off to the ladies' room while Kirk and McCoy procured champagne. Spock and Uhura were already seated, and McCoy and Kirk took their seats directly behind them. The actors filed in soon after, and they were all sitting pretty close to each other on one of the aisles, Khan in the second row and the rest of them in behind him.

Kirk leaned over to McCoy. "You ready, Bones?"

McCoy took in a deep breath. "As I'll ever be," he said.

* * *

  
Later, Kirk could only remember the night in a haze. The producers of the show had gotten a Broadway type to host, so there was a proper opening number with singing and dancing—old-fashioned, sure, but it felt appropriate. Then the usual jokes at the audience's expense, something about Khan retiring from being a master criminal to raise Russian children in Georgia that they all pretended to laugh at.

One of those still-hot white-haired English actresses came on stage and Kirk held his breath, then jumped up and shouted when she called out Khan's name. Kirk had kept his promise, a promise Khan actually mentioned in his acceptance speech, so whatever else happened would be gravy.

Chekov and Miri came on stage then, Chekov giving a hug to Khan as he walked past. They presented the best animated film, which Kirk supposed was a joke since they were both Disney stars. Then a musician Kirk hadn't heard of but McCoy had won best song and McCoy cheered.

Original screenplay was next, and McCoy sat ramrod straight next to Kirk.

"Smile, Bones," he said. "There's a camera."

So McCoy smiled nervously, holding Joanna's hand and Kirk's, and when they called his name he squeezed them even harder, then hugged Kirk, kissed Joanna and bounded up on stage and made a speech not unlike his WGA speech. Kirk mostly remembered his grin, Joanna's happy tears, and how the audience applauded.

Joanna slid in next to Kirk to make room for the seat filler and it was all those short film and documentary awards that make or break office pools, the winners having to come up to the stage from the cheap seats in the back.

McCoy got back from the press room and asked, "What'd I miss?"

"Not much," Kirk said. "Did you kill any reporters?"

"Nope," he said, grinning. "I was a good boy."

McCoy got to see his buddy Mark Piper win adapted screenplay, and then they all held hands for Gaila. When she won they jumped some more, Uhura was crying, and then Gaila started giggling before thanking Uhura, Kirk, McCoy, Khan, Chekov, Spock, everyone ever, and Scotty for being her light, which Kirk thought was sweet.

Not long after that it was time for _That Which Survives_ to be presented as a nominated film, which they all had agreed should be done by Carol. She was the one who'd set everything into motion; she was the person closest to the production without being a part of it; and besides, what befit a movie star more than to make her first public appearance after having her baby at the Academy Awards? She was in her usual teal, corseted within an inch of her life to both hide the baby weight she hadn't lost yet and make the most of her "bonus tits" as she liked to call them. They'd kept her appearance under wraps as much as possible, and she hadn't wanted to walk the red carpet anyway, so the audience reacted with surprised cheers. She smiled graciously.

"Apparently what my friend Jim Kirk does to pass the time while I'm off having a baby is direct an award-winning film!" she ad-libbed, and the audience laughed. But she stuck pretty close to the script after that. " _That Which Survives_ stars Pavel Chekov as Walter, who comes home from his first year of college to the news that his father is dying. Over that final summer, with help from a no-nonsense nurse, he comes to accept his father's fate. _That Which Survives_ is about courage, hope and disappointment; loss, love and life. Gaila and Khan have already received Academy Awards tonight for their performances. Produced by my friends Spock and Nyota Uhura from an Academy Award-winning script by my new friend Leonard McCoy and directed by Academy Award nominee and my old friend Jim Kirk, this is _That Which Survives_."

The clip they chose was the dish-washing scene that had caused all the trouble on set. Now, it was the scene Kirk was the proudest of.

Kirk's attention wandered a little through the next few awards. _Narada_ got a bunch of the effects, editing and visual awards, which was fine; the movie was mostly effects and probably deserved it, and anyway Kirk's team had won those effects awards in the past. He didn't begrudge Nero jumping around like a lunatic at his seat so much as he didn't need to see it.

At the last ad break, with just the four major awards left, McCoy turned to him and said, "How ya holdin' up?"

Kirk shrugged. "I'm just glad it was me who had to wait and not you," he said. 'You would have vibrated your seat right out into the aisle by now."

"Probably," McCoy said, chuckling.

Kirk looked around the audience. At the other breaks there had been a good bit of seat jumping, with everyone eager to talk to rarely-seen friends, but now they were all too tired or too nervous to bother. Nero caught Kirk's eye and gave him a thumbs-up and a smile, which Kirk returned.

"What the hell is he up to?" McCoy said.

Kirk turned to McCoy, who was scowling fiercely in Nero's direction. "You're hilarious, you know that?" he said, laughing.

Spock turned around in his seat. "Good luck, Jim," he said, and they shook hands.

"You too," Kirk said. "And you, Ms. Uhura."

Uhura smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Kirk."

The break over, Kirk settled back in his seat. Actor and actress were Robert April and Sarah Poole, the two leads from _The Cloud Minders_. Kirk was glad that they won, since they'd won most of the other acting awards. "Think we should make a romance, Bones?" he asked over the applause.

"I don't know about a romance," McCoy said. "Romantic comedy, maybe."

Kirk's heart came up in his throat when Jonathan Archer came out on stage; he hadn't known his idol was going to present Best Director. Archer's career had inspired Kirk in so many ways, particularly on _That Which Survives_ , and now he hoped even more that he, and not Nero, would get the award.

No muss, no fuss in this presentation. Archer read out the names, they each smiled for the camera while the audience applauded, and then he opened the envelope and everything went silent. Archer was smiling as he looked at the name—what could that mean?

"James T. Kirk," he said.

Kirk blinked, and wondered what he was supposed to do next.

McCoy poked him. "Get up, you dumb ass. You just won an Oscar."

Kirk kissed his mother, and then hugged everyone that was between him and the stage, though he was still a little dazed. Jonathan Archer shook his hand— _Jonathan Archer shook his hand_ —said, "Good job, Kirk," and handed him the statue.

"So!" he said. "I feel like we've all gotten up here and said a long list of people, all of whom deserve our thanks, and I'll just say thank you to my entire crew, because each one of them, whatever they were doing, contributed to making this movie what it was. I'd also like to thank everyone at Fleet for being so encouraging, Carol for having a baby—" the audience laughed then, and Kirk laughed with them—"my agent Janice Rand who put this script into my hands, and Christopher Pike for everything he's done for me." He looked out into the audience and found Spock. "Spock, who's like my brother. I've never made a movie without him and I never want to. And Nyota and Leonard, who came into our cozy little partnership and just fit so well that it was like they'd always been there. My mom, who's a really great date. And finally thanks to all of you, and all the moviemakers of the past. You inspire me every day." He held up the statue and stepped back from the mike as the audience applauded.

Kirk didn't go to the press room after he got off stage, as Best Picture was next. The stage went dark and then, in a pool of light, stood the actress affectionately known in the industry as "Number One." She needed no introduction, just the audience's applause as she walked up to the microphone. She was semi-retired now, only taking a few roles here and there, and most of those on stage. She didn't need to do anything she didn't want to; after all, she had two statues of her own and plenty of popular success on top of that.

"Wow," she said as the applause died down. "With a reception like that I feel like I should be saying 'I'm Mrs. Norman Maine.'" She paused for the laughter of those in the audience who caught the reference. "Well, I _am_ Mrs. Christopher Pike, and he is alive and well and making a lot of trouble backstage, so let's get on with it. The nominees are: _Catspaw, The Cloud Minders, Dagger of the Mind, Narada,_ and _That Which Survives_. And the Best Picture of 2008 is—" she opened the envelope and smiled, and Kirk knew, he fucking _knew_ as she looked down into the audience. "Get up here, you two. _That Which Survives_!"

Kirk was shouting as he jumped back out on the stage, and as soon as Spock had gotten up the stairs he jumped into Spock's arms, Oscar in hand, his legs around Spock's waist. "We did it, man! We did it!"

"It would appear so, Jim," Spock said.

Kirk jumped down and went to the mike while Uhura was getting the statue from Number One. "Nyota's going to talk but I want everyone up here. Pavel, Bones, Gaila, Khan, Scotty, Sulu, everyone up here!" He stepped back, letting Spock and Uhura soak up the spotlight while he hugged everyone as they came up on stage, keeping McCoy by his side.

"Wow, this is, um, this is really overwhelming!" Uhura said. Spock stood beside her and took her hand. "I'm a d-girl! This is the first movie I've produced!" The crowd laughed. "So I have to thank Spock and Jim for letting me into their process, because while they're nothing alike, when it comes to making movies they have _one mind_. Thanks to Chris Pike for assigning me to this project and giving us the freedom to do as we pleased. Thanks to Leonard McCoy for writing _such_ an amazing script, and Gaila, Khan and Pavel for bringing it to life, and the entire cast and crew, and the state of Georgia for being so welcoming. Thanks to everyone who's seen the movie or is going to after tonight. And thanks, very much, to the Academy."

Uhura stepped aside and Spock leaned into the mike. "The people on this stage would like to thank all of our fathers, and all of our mothers."

And that was it. After almost a year, it was over. It was over, and they had _won_.

* * *

  
Kirk, Spock and Uhura had to go through the press room and then it was on to the Governor's Ball, where they ate like a starving tribe and Joanna had her promised first glass of champagne. Carol was there, too, and Kirk was pleased that she'd simply attached herself to the _That Which Survives_ crew as though she'd been in the film; it was very Carol of her, and in a way she had been a big part of it. Glad handing was a lot more fun when you were the one being glad handed, Kirk found, especially when one of the glad handers was Nero. Not that he saw it that way, of course.

"Kirk!" he bellowed. "Looks like we tied up!"

"Did we?" Kirk asked, smiling. "How'd you figure?"

"Five and five!" Nero said, grinning.

"Oh," Kirk replied. "In all the excitement I kind of lost track myself."

"Well," Nero said.

"And the way I see it," Kirk went on, "we've gone five-for-five, while _you've_ gone five-for-nine. We didn't lose to anyone, and we got the big prize. I'd say we're pretty damn satisfied around here."

"As well you should be," Nero said. "You made a moving little film there."

"Thanks," Kirk said. "Likewise, I'm sure." They shook hands.

As soon as Nero was out of earshot, Scotty said, "Meow!"

"I know, right?" Kirk said, grinning. "Okay, let's get to the Fleet party. Pike's already texted me three times."

In his years as a director, Kirk had become very good at herding cats, which came in handy on occasions such as this. He had his crew out and in their limos in fifteen minutes, and they were off to see Pike.

The Fleet party was at the Four Seasons, and Kirk went right up to Pike, his mother on his arm. "Winona!" he said. "Aren't you a sight?"

"Hello, Chris," she said, and gave him a hug, then sat down next to him. "How have you been? Has my boy been driving you to distraction?"

Pike shrugged. "That's what he does best. But, you two got me my statue years ago, for Best Documentary, so I thought I'd return the favor."

"Thanks," Kirk said.

"Don't mention it," Pike said, in a tone that meant, "really, we will speak no further of this," so Kirk left them to it and went in search of a drink. Uhura was talking to her coworkers—well, soon to be former, but that hadn't been announced yet—and Spock was sitting with Scotty and Sulu, back to the wall and observing as he always did at parties. Number One was gliding around hostessing it up, and Kirk caught Gaila staring at her with admiration, while Khan had as big a gaggle of admirers here as he had after the BAFTAs. Kirk found McCoy and Joanna on a couch and joined them, carrying with him three glasses of virgin punch.

"You know, Jo," he said, "if you want to follow your dad into the industry you should be chatting up Pike, and he'd give you an internship or something."

"Yeah," Joanna said, shrugging.

"She wants to write novels," McCoy said.

"Ah," Kirk said. "Then you should talk to Spock."

"I know!" Joanna said, excited. "Dad told me. But I don't have to do that tonight."

"No," Kirk replied. "Tonight's just for fun."

The Fleet party was like the good kind of family holiday—Kirk had been at the studio for so long that he knew everyone on the lot and they were all there, congratulating him as one of their own, their pride in him so evident that he was relieved he hadn't let them down. He made his way back over to Pike a bit later, and the man patted the chair next to him.

"Well, you can thank Nyota for wearing me down," he said, "but even though you _stole her out from under my nose_ , we'll find a bigger bungalow for you at Fleet."

Kirk's eyes widened. "Really?" he asked.

"Don't make me repeat myself," Pike said irritably. "I just can't imagine the lot without you, all right?"

Kirk smiled. "You know it was really Spock who stole her from you," he said. "He's the one who charmed her, not me."

"Yeah," Pike said, looking at the two of them talking in the corner, their heads close together. "It's the darnedest thing, isn't it?"

Winona was ready to go home after that, as was Joanna, so Carol took them home in her limo.

The remaining crew hit the _Vanity Fair_ party last, and the room was packed with winners, fellow nominees, and other Hollywood types. McCoy's action-star clients were practically lined up to congratulate him, and also themselves on keeping him employed through the lean years, and McCoy was gracious enough to let them. Sulu and Chekov could finally sit together without attracting attention, though they were still not doing much canoodling, and Scotty and Gaila were mostly just beaming at each other. Kirk was getting another drink at the bar when Spock came up to him, hand in hand with Uhura.

"Apparently Nero has been saying that since he has an Oscar already he's happy to let you have one now," he said.

"Really?" Kirk asked. "My god this is _so high school_." He rolled his eyes.

"Is that what it is?" Spock asked. "I thought it was just pettiness on his part."

Kirk smiled a little. "Pretty much."

"You talking about Nero?" McCoy asked as he joined them at the bar. "I'm gonna sock that guy in the jaw if he's not careful."

"What happened now?" Kirk asked.

"Oh, one of my clients—Nero didn't know I was writing for the guy, didn't know the lines the actor seemed to have come up with on his own were all from me. I guess he'd thought I'd never touched any of his movies." McCoy drained his glass, set it down on the bar, and motioned the bartender for another. "Idiot, I've done everyone's movies."

"Except mine," Kirk said.

"Yeah, but that's not true anymore, is it?" McCoy asked.

"Nope," Kirk said. "From now on it's all you, baby."

Kirk and McCoy finally poured themselves into the limo around two a.m., not really drunk but under the influence. They were so exhausted physically and emotionally that all they could do was slump down against the seat and lay their heads back. Tomorrow Winona would go home and Kirk's life would go back to normal, only it was this new normal where Spock had Uhura and Carol had David and Kirk wasn't sure what he had other than this statue.

Well, he had his Bones, sure, but he wasn't really sure what that _meant_. He sighed.

"What was that for?" McCoy asked.

"Just thinking," Kirk replied. "I'm sorry that I fucked up the whole Joanna's dress thing."

"What?" McCoy said, sitting up slightly. "You didn't fuck it up, Jim. You fixed it."

"That was Carol."

"You called her."

"Yeah, well," Kirk said. "You were just so angry—understandably—and I—"

"Well, I got angry because it's so tough to raise a girl in this town," he replied. "Joss sees a lot of young dancers with eating disorders and all kinds of body image problems and we've worked hard to make Joanna feel strong. She danced when she was little, and she rides horses now, and it helps that she sees her body as a tool that can do things, rather than just how she looks in a swimsuit."

"She's a good kid," Kirk said.

"Yeah, she is," he replied.

They pulled up outside of McCoy's house not long after that.

"Well, this is me," he said, sitting up a bit and fishing his keys out of his pocket. He turned and looked at Kirk, staring so long that Kirk squirmed a little, then clasped his hand in Kirk's and kissed the back of it. "Thanks, Jim," he said.

"Thanks, Bones," Kirk replied.

"Talk to you soon," he said, and got out of the limo and went into the house.

All the way home, Kirk couldn't get the look on McCoy's face out of his mind. There was something to it, and he certainly didn't want to fuck it up. But he had the niggling sense that there was a ball in his court and he wasn't sure how to play it.

* * *

  
When Kirk woke up the next day, he was still weary, so he went down stairs without bothering to put in his contacts or throw a t-shirt on. Winona had coffee brewing and the griddle out on the stove, and was sitting at the kitchen counter using one of the guest laptops. "Watcha making, Mom?" he asked.

She looked up. "Tiberius's corn flapjacks," she said. "I didn't realize so many people on Facebook watched the Oscars! My wall is full!"

Kirk smiled. "It makes the news, you know," he said.

"Well, I can leave answering these until later," she said. "You're a real hometown hero now, James."

"I guess so," Kirk said, scratching his stomach and reaching for his mug.

"But I did want to show you a couple of pictures. You know your brother put all those family photos online for me."

"Yeah," Kirk replied.

"I thought you'd get a kick out of these," she said, turning the computer around.

Kirk pulled it closer as Winona hopped off the stool and started up the stove. "You took pictures of David yesterday?" he asked.

"No," she said. "That black and white one on the left is your father, and the one on the right is you."

Kirk blinked, adjusted his glasses, and looked again. "Huh," he said.

"Newborns often look like their fathers," Winona said, spreading oil on the surface of the griddle. "Evolutionary advantage. It's after a month or so that they start looking like themselves."

Kirk turned to Winona. "What are you trying to say?" he asked.

"You can't be that surprised," she said. "I don't know what that girl means in not telling you. I'm sure she has her reasons. But I also know how _you_ feel about fathers." She smiled, a little sadly. "You've certainly shared that with me. And I know the kind of man you are. Now, do you want three flapjacks, or four?"

"Four," Kirk said. "Maybe five." He'd need them, to get through the day he suspected was ahead of him.

* * *

  
As soon as Winona left for the airport, Kirk got on his bike and went over to Carol's. He had the code to her gate and the keys to her house, and he walked in quietly. It was after one and the house was dark, though Carol had said she was managing to nap when David napped. Kirk slipped up the stairs and into the nursery, and sure enough David was on his back in his crib, sleeping. Kirk looked down at the baby, so tiny in his little t-shirt with the spaceship on it. He wasn't sure how long he'd stood there staring before David suddenly opened his eyes and looked at him. He couldn't quite remember if David's eyes could focus at this age—books! He needed books, he'd ask Bones—or if David could recognize him, but he decided it didn't really matter, today.

"Hey, David," he whispered. "Turns out I'm your dad! I'm sorry I couldn't be here the whole nine weeks you've been alive, and I'm gonna make up for that. But I'm so glad you're here. I'm not entirely sure what a dad does other than love you a lot, so we'll have to make it up as we go along, okay?"

David was listening, he thought, but also trying very hard to reach his mouth with his toes while waving his hands around. Kirk reached down into the crib, putting his fingers on David's stomach where the t-shirt had ridden up. David made a face, one Kirk recognized from the day he and McCoy had looked after him as the "I'm thinking about crying" face.

"Don't do that," Kirk said, and picked David up. "Let's not wake Mom up just yet, huh? Because your mother does _not_ like to be woken up." Kirk settled into the nearby rocking chair and let David curl up into his chest. "But I bet you know that. Or I bet she makes an exception for you." Kirk smiled. "I am going to tell you _so much_ about your mom, and she's going to tell you _so much_ about me. But we really do love each other. Remember that."

David had been squirming a little, snuggling closer, but now he was still, his slow even breathing indicating he'd gone back to sleep. Kirk kept stroking his soft baby skin as he rocked slowly in the chair.

He looked up and saw Carol standing in the door. No telling how long she'd been there.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

"Why didn't you ask?" she replied.

"I trusted that you'd think it was something I'd want to know. I asked Spock and he agreed."

"So you asked Spock and not me?" she said, moving further into the room. "No, Jimmy. You didn't want to know."

Kirk sighed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Carol picked up a toy and started fumbling with it. "I was scared. When I found out I was pregnant I knew I wanted to keep the baby. I was scared you'd try to get me to do something ... else."

Kirk's jaw set, angrily. "Only assholes try to get girls to get abortions or not get abortions. What the hell, Carol?"

"You never said anything about wanting a family."

"Neither did you."

She sat down in another chair. "I'm sorry, okay? I panicked. I couldn't be sure." She sighed. "You aren't going to want to marry me now or something, are you?"

"Okay, you have _got_ to stop thinking of me as a character in a Lifetime movie and concentrate on the man who's been your friend for nine years."

"Look at this room," she said. " _I've_ become a character in a Lifetime movie."

Kirk looked around at the fluffy clouds and smiling sun on the walls. "I think it's sweet," he said.

David made a little snuffling noise then, and tried to bury his head further into Kirk's chest.

"He's going to want to eat in a minute," she said.

"Oh," Kirk said. "You want him, then?"

Carol hesitated, then stood up. "Yeah, let me take him." As Kirk cleared out of the rocking chair she said, "Just give me a few days? Then we can talk about how this is going to work."

Kirk handed her the baby. "Okay," he said. He kissed David's head. "I'll see you soon, kiddo."

David didn't seem to mind. As soon as Carol sat down and opened her robe his mouth latched onto her breast.

"Impressive," Kirk said.

Carol rolled her eyes. "David, when you grow up, don't be vulgar like your father," she said. "Go away, Jim. I'll call you."

"Okay," he said, leaving, "but if you don't I still have keys."

* * *

  
Kirk sat on his bike in Carol's driveway trying to decide what to do next. He knew what he _wanted_ to do, though it felt a little selfish. He glanced at his watch and thought, well, fuck it, and headed for Venice.

From the porch Kirk could see McCoy sitting on his couch, reading a book and taking some notes. The Oscar was sitting on his coffee table. McCoy looked up, hearing his steps. "Come in," he said, setting the book down. "I was going to text you and see what you were up to this week."

Kirk read the book upside down. "Fitzgerald again?"

McCoy shrugged. "Thought I'd see if I could make something out of that pirate story," he said.

Kirk smiled and nodded. "Cool."

McCoy stood. "I only have about fifteen minutes before I have to pick up Jo, but you're welcome to hang around and stay for dinner if you want to," he said.

"Well, I have some stuff I have to say," he replied. "To you. So I guess I should say it now."

"Okay," McCoy said, and leaned against the archway to the dining room.

Kirk nodded. "So it turns out that I'm David's father. Which, maybe you already figured out, maybe not, but it's true, and Carol and I are going to work something out."

"I ... suspected," McCoy admitted. "Once I saw him in person."

"Yeah," Kirk said. "So I'll probably be asking you about books and stuff because you're pretty much an awesome father."

"Thanks. Happy to help."

"But that's not why I'm here. I mean, I did want to tell you that, but it isn't what I have to say."

McCoy looked confused, but nodded. "All right," he said.

Kirk cleared his throat. "We make a good team, you and I, and not just for making movies. You're good at calling me on my bullshit and I'm good at calming you the fuck down and we had great sex that one time—well, three times. I've been told that while I'm an amazing director as a boyfriend I kinda suck, but I'd try hard to be awesome if I was your boyfriend. And it isn't just oh, I'm a dad now and I need help, though that's true because I didn't have a dad so I'll have no idea what I'm doing but you're a great dad and I can tell that you had a great dad, too. But anyway I was thinking about you before I knew about David, and I understand what you said about Carol but I promise, Bones, that's totally over and different now and basically—"

"Shut up, Jim," McCoy said, advancing on him and looking a little wild-eyed.

"Bones?" Kirk asked.

"I said, 'shut up, Jim,'" McCoy said, and kissed him.

It took Kirk a half-second to get with the program but get with it he did. And then McCoy pulled away.

"Why'd you stop?" Kirk asked.

"Because nice as this is, I still have to go pick up my kid."

"How about I get her," Kirk said, "which is faster because I have the bike, so we can make out for fifteen more minutes. Then while I'm gone you can start dinner?"

McCoy grinned. "Why Jim Kirk," he said, "that's the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me."

* * *

  
If it had been a movie Kirk would have ended it there. Pull back from our united lovers, out the door, pan to the ocean, the end. But what actually happened is that when Kirk returned with Joanna, McCoy handed him his Costco card and the keys to his car and asked him to go get some paper towels. Kirk nodded because he wasn't an idiot—of course McCoy wanted to talk to Joanna. Kirk got paper towels and an enormous container of early strawberries and filled the gas tank and generally dawdled. When he returned McCoy and Joanna were taking dinner out of the oven.

"Hey, berries!" Joanna said.

"Yeah," Kirk replied. "They looked good." He set them down on the counter, suddenly very nervous even though he'd been to their house for dinner many times.

Joanna looked at him with that serious McCoy expression. "Don't mess it up," she said, wagging her finger.

"I'll do my best not to," Kirk replied, just as serious.

"Okay," she said, and that was that.

Kirk left after dinner, and it was weird but also kind of awesome to have some goodbye kisses with McCoy out on the porch. "Come over this weekend?" he asked. "And by weekend I mean, show up after you drop Jo off at school Friday morning and leave my place Monday afternoon to pick her up."

"I'd like that," McCoy said, and Kirk could feel feel McCoy's eyes on him as he got on his bike and drove away.

* * *

  
Kirk went over to Spock's place from there, after checking that he was home and that Uhura was around. It just felt right to do it all in one day. But he did bring them a bottle of wine.

"So," Kirk said, "what I have now that I didn't have when I saw you last is a boyfriend and a son. Or well, I kinda had both but I didn't know it, only now I know it and they know it and so you should know it too."

"I see," Spock said, and thought for a bit. "It is more logical for Carol to have had your baby, than anyone else's."

"I think so," Kirk said.

"Am I right in presuming that the boyfriend in question is Leonard McCoy?" he asked.

"Yes," Kirk said. "I guess we should have called our production company 'Abba.'"

"Because we are Swedish?" Spock asked.

"What does Joanna think of this?" Uhura asked.

"She threatened me," he said, smiling at her, "and then we had dinner."

"Well, I'm happy for you, Jim," she said, and gave him a hug.

"Spock?" Kirk asked.

Spock cocked his head. "It cannot be a coincidence," he said, "that we all have had such significant change in our lives over this past year. Perhaps the party was the precipitating event? You and Carol slept together that night, and the movie was made at least in part because Carol became pregnant. And making the film certainly brought us in closer contact with new people."

"Maybe it was the planets coming together, Spock," Kirk said. "Maybe our little group had grown too incestuous and we needed fresh blood, and Carol was the first person to figure that out." He paused. "Maybe we all needed to make a movie about our dads so we would grow the fuck up."

"Perhaps," Spock allowed. "It is an interesting puzzle. In any case, good luck to you, Jim. I have every confidence that this relationship will not have the same outcome as the others."

"Oh really?" Kirk asked. "Why?"

"In part because you are correct in saying that we have matured in the last year," he said. "And McCoy is a mature adult as well."

"Well," Kirk said, "I hope you're right. At least, I'll do everything I can to prove you right."

"I know you will," Spock said.

* * *

  
At midweek Kirk and Carol went to his lawyer Gary Mitchell's office with her lawyer and a notary public. They signed a bunch of forms that said that Kirk was David's father, and gave them to Gary who knew someone in Sacramento who could speed the process along. "Two weeks, tops," he said, and Kirk would be on the birth certificate. But David would keep Carol's name—after all, Carol had nothing but sisters, but Kirk's brother had kids. Then Gary and Carol's lawyer referred them to a confidential family practice that could draw up a simple joint custody agreement. It was strangely easy to put things straight, after all the months of subterfuge.

They went to lunch after the forms were filed, just the three of them, and it was weird and nice and overwhelming and wow, he had a family now. Like, officially.

"I have a crazy idea," Carol said.

"And that's different than your other ideas how?" Kirk asked.

"I'm going to wean at six months," she said. "Mom thinks I should nurse for a lot longer but ugh, no. I can't work worrying about saggy tits."

"Okay," Kirk said.

"So maybe you can take him then."

Kirk cocked his head. "For how long?"

"I don't know, two months? That's long enough for a nice spa vacation, maybe travel a little. Treat my sisters."

"You sure you can handle the separation?" he asked. "It doesn't have to be that drastic. I'm going to see him all the time now."

"I'm not sure I can, but I want to make it up to you," she said, "the two months you didn't get to be his dad. And—I _need_ to make sure I don't lose myself."

"Well, we can't have that," Kirk said. "That doesn't help anyone." He leaned over to David, who was playing with a blanket in his carrier. "Especially not you!"

"Do you mean that?" she asked.

Kirk smiled at her. "We'll work it out," he said. "We always do. I mean, sure, with a lot of shouting and ridiculousness, but still. We made all these movies and stayed friends through that. Bones and his wife had a pretty bad breakup but they seem able to co-parent their kid. Why can't we?"

Carol smiled at him then, really smiled, and Kirk realized how much those months of hiding and worry had clouded her features. But they were wide open now. "You're right," Carol said. "We absolutely can."

* * *

  
McCoy arrived at Kirk's house at eight a.m. on Friday morning, and Kirk was waiting for him with a cup of coffee and some corn fritters.

"What's in the bag?" he asked.

"Clothes?" McCoy said. "A swim suit?"

"What makes you think you'll need those?"

"For when we leave the house?"

"What makes you think we'll be doing that?"

"Well, at the very least," he said, "I'll need a clean shirt and different pants to pick up Joanna. She's a teenage girl; she notices things like that. And while she knows I'm here, she doesn't need to feel like I'm on a four-day-old walk of shame."

"That, I'll allow," Kirk said, stepping forward and pulling McCoy into his arms. "But otherwise it's naked time. I've got plenty of sunscreen."

"Good," McCoy said, muttering against Kirk's lips. "I wouldn't want to burn anything."

They kissed then, just standing in the kitchen making out, and it struck Kirk again how _normal_ it all was. He hadn't had anything like normal in a long time.

Kirk pulled back. "Let's take this upstairs," he said.

McCoy just nodded; he seemed more interested in getting in some more kisses than speaking.

Kirk grabbed the fritters on the way out of the kitchen—sex burned calories after all—so he walked up to the bedroom behind McCoy, and wasn't that a sight. McCoy was setting his bag down in the corner, bending over, and suddenly Kirk heard himself saying, "God I can't wait to fuck you."

McCoy stood up, turned, and raised an eyebrow. "Why wait?" he asked, kicking off his shoes and laying on the bed, leaning back on his elbows.

"And when's the last time you were fucked, Bones?" Kirk asked, sitting next to him. "Because knowing you, you didn't let any of those tricks from West Hollywood fuck you."

"You're right about that," McCoy said. "The last time there was a person fucking me? Yeah, that was a long time ago. The last time there was a cock-shaped object up my ass? That would be yesterday."

Kirk grinned and bounced a little on the bed, then straddled McCoy. "Yesterday? You were _totally_ thinking about me, weren't you?"

McCoy glanced away. "I knew I shouldn't have told you …"

"No, no, it's awesome!" Kirk said. "What, you think I haven't been jacking off thinking about you since Monday night? Though I admit I was thinking more about those cocksucker lips of yours." He leaned in and kissed them. "Since I had a memory for that."

McCoy's hands were on Kirk's biceps, steadying him. "Good memory," he said. "Let's make some more." He slid his hands under Kirk's shirt, sliding it up and off, then sat up slightly so Kirk could do the same for him.

"Lovely," Kirk said, leaning down for another kiss and rubbing against McCoy, feeling him hard and hot under his jeans, just as Kirk was himself.

"Jesus, Jim," McCoy said eventually, "you gonna fuck me with that thing or what?"

Kirk sat up, smirking. "You're going to be a bossy, bitchy little bottom aren't you?"

McCoy grinned, entirely unrepentant, and damn was it a good look on him. "Pretty much," he said.

Kirk got up off the bed to grab the lube, while McCoy shucked his jeans and boxers and pulled the covers down.

"By the way," McCoy said, "not _only_ a bottom. Just to be clear."

"Oh, I know," Kirk said, tossing him the lube and getting naked himself. "I'll be riding you before the weekend is over. Hell, maybe even before the day is over." He grabbed a condom and joined McCoy on the bed, laying on top of him and between his invitingly spread legs.

They made out for a little longer, despite McCoy's earlier protest, because the kissing was addictive, and they really _did_ have the entire weekend. Kirk picked up the lube eventually, squirting some onto his fingers and slipping them between McCoy's legs. They were still kissing, and Kirk could feel McCoy react as one, then two fingers slid inside him, stretching him. When Kirk added a third McCoy pulled back, gasping, though his arms still held Kirk close.

"One of these times," Kirk said, "I'm gonna watch you prepare yourself. God, must be so hot."

"You're doing just fine," McCoy said, a little hitch in his voice.

"Why thank you," Kirk said, smirking. He pulled his fingers out of McCoy, who hissed in response, and wiped them off on the sheet before reaching for the condom.

"Let me do that," McCoy said, taking it from him.

Kirk sat up on his knees and watched as McCoy rolled on the condom and then slicked him up with lube, giving his balls a grope for good measure. Then McCoy grabbed a pillow, slipped it under his back, and spread his legs even further. Kirk just stared.

"What?" McCoy asked grouchily, knitting his brows.

Kirk had to grin at that, McCoy being his usual self and reassuring Kirk that yes, this was actually happening in the real world. "Nothing," he said, lining himself up and pushing into McCoy. "Just you."

McCoy hummed and Kirk went slow, relishing the tight fit, feeling McCoy's body shifting around him. McCoy tipped his hips up just a little more, making the angle easier, and wrapped his legs around Kirk's waist.

Once he was all the way in, he asked, "Ready?"

McCoy rolled his eyes. "I was ready ten damn minutes ago."

Kirk snickered. "You're gonna regret that."

"Make me," McCoy replied.

"Gladly," Kirk said, and got to work with long, deep strokes that hit that sweet spot more often than not, gradually gaining speed until he was shifting the bed with every thrust, pounding into McCoy with all he had, and McCoy was taking it with a little smile on his face.

And of course he was a talker. "Fuck yeah, Jim, that's good, just like that," he said, digging his heels into Kirk's back. "Keep going, open me right up darlin'."

Hot as that was, Kirk decided his goal should be to get McCoy to incoherence, so he leaned forward, his cock hitting its target with every thrust now. McCoy reached up to fist himself but Kirk batted his hand away, replacing it with his own, and McCoy was doing nothing but moaning now, which was more like it. Then he made another sound, low and guttural, and he was coming all over Kirk's hand and their stomachs. Didn't take much after that, between the way McCoy's ass clutched at his cock and how damn gorgeous he was when he came, red-faced and gasping, for Kirk to go over the edge as well. One last long thrust and he collapsed atop McCoy, panting and sticky.

McCoy's hand was softly stroking Kirk's hair when he came back down from the high, and he smiled, planting a kiss on McCoy's chest before slipping out of him and rolling off him and onto his back. "That what you wanted, Bones?" he asked.

McCoy chuckled, getting rid of the pillow and turning onto his side, propping his head up with one hand. "Yeah," he said. "That was just what I wanted."

* * *

  
Later—some time on Saturday afternoon when they were bothering to actually talk again—McCoy said, "So I was thinking about a rom-com."

"Oh, the pirate movie?"

"Not that," he said. "I think that's gonna take a while. This one's about a career woman who always meant to have a family, but just never met that right guy."

"Okay, standard," Kirk said, "but I like that she's thought about it."

"Yeah. So she starts working with this single father, something collaborative."

"The rom-com demo loves single dads."

"The guy has sacrificed his career to be a more involved dad, though he always thought he'd set the world on fire."

"Right, right. Nice role-reversal."

"Maybe he's a writer? And she's his editor, and he's finally publishing his novel?"

"Or maybe," Kirk said, sitting up in bed, "he's a lawyer, but he's always been kinda small time, personal service, hang out a shingle, and suddenly he's in on a big case, and she's the litigator brought in to help him?"

"Yeah, I like that better," McCoy said.

"That can give us the non-romantic b-plot."

"She helps him become a better lawyer, and he turns out to be the right guy."

"She doesn't have a baby by her ex-boyfriend in the middle of all this, does she?"

"No," McCoy said, shaking his head. "We can skip that part."

"An unnecessary complication."

"In the narrative," McCoy said. "Narratives are sleek and clean, like a well-oiled machine. Life, it seems to me, is a long series of unnecessary complications."

Kirk raised his eyebrows. "You're really philosophical after sex, you know that?"

"Yeah," McCoy said, looking away. "It's a thing."

"I like it," Kirk said.

"Anyway," McCoy said, and Kirk was pretty sure he was blushing, "I don't think David is an unnecessary complication."

"Me neither. I think he's tiny and awesome and terrifying."

"That sounds about right," McCoy said.

"So, we'll make the movie?"

"Yeah, let's make it. But for now," McCoy said, and dragged Kirk back down onto the bed.

Kirk laughed. "Sex and movies?" he asked. "I love you, Leonard McCoy."

"Damn right you do," McCoy said.

* * *

  
"When did you know?" McCoy asked.

It was early Sunday morning and they'd made eggs and potatoes and were sitting out by the pool, eating.

"Christmas," Kirk answered. "Well, that's when I knew I loved you, anyway, and when I started to think you might love me. But it wasn't until Oscar night that I really knew, when you said I hadn't fucked up, with Joanna."

"You didn't."

"I know, but when you said it—I don't know, something about it."

"I wanted to kiss you."

"Yeah, maybe that was it. You can do that now if you want to."

"All right," McCoy said, and did.

"When did you know?" Kirk asked.

"Christmas. Or really, when I invited you for Christmas because I was so upset that you might be alone. That was when I knew I loved you. About you, well, sort of at Christmas, when you were so protective of me, but I was still hesitant because so many people had warned me about you."

"For good reason," Kirk said.

"I don't know about that," McCoy said, "but I knew for sure when you took care of Joanna, and then seeing you with David. That's when I knew you loved me, and I thought it was about time I went after something I wanted."

"Well, I'm glad it was me, and I'm glad you did," Kirk said, and kissed him. They were quiet for a bit and then he said, "You know what? Let's call the Oscars our first date."

McCoy smiled. "That sounds good to me," he said.


	11. Aftermath

  
No movie ends precisely with the resolution of the hero's objective. You have to reveal the new life your hero is living now that she's completed her journey.

_February, 2010_

Leonard still didn't like red carpets, even if now Jim could hold his hand as they walked down it, and even if people were no longer asking intrusive questions about his father. As they walked along they saw Data, the Variety reporter who'd done McCoy's first interview about _That Which Survives_.

"What's the status on the next Bibi Besch movie?" he asked.  "Are the rumors true?"

"Yep," Jim said.  "Last one for me and Carol.  You'll see Bibi training a new spy-girl in the next movie.  We're introducing a terrific actress, Tasha Yar, and I think she's going to be fantastic in the part.  We start shooting in, what, two months?"

"Something like that," Leonard replied.

"And you wrote it, McCoy?" Data asked.  "Quite a departure from _That Which Survives_."

"Well, so is the movie opening tonight!" Leonard said.  "And I've been working on action films for the last six years, so writing one from scratch was pretty doable."

"You two recently moved into a house in Pacific Palisades?"

"Yeah, it's a gorgeous place," Jim said, "plenty of room for the kids."

"Domesticity! Sounds like quite a change for you, Jim."

"You gotta change it up!" he replied. "Do new things. I spent plenty of time partying in this town." He turned to Leonard. "Now I'm doing something else."

"And is it true that you based this romantic comedy on your own relationship?"

"Nope," Leonard said.  "No truth to that whatsoever.  Totally fiction."

* * *

  
On the big screen, a lawyer played by Carol Marcus was engaged in a passionate lip-lock with another lawyer played by Geoffrey M'Benga.

"Nice as this is," he said, "I still have to pick up my daughter at school."

"How about I pick her up on the bike?" she asked.  "We get fifteen more minutes of kissing, and you can start dinner while I'm gone."

"That's the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me," he replied. 

Cue music, pull back, pan to ocean, fade to credits.

If he hadn't known better, Leonard would have wondered if he had deja-vu.  Once again Jim was pacing in the back of the theater at a premiere.  Once again Spock was standing, impassively, near the door, though now he was joined by Uhura.  Once again Leonard himself, with his daughter, was sitting in the audience next to Carol, watching her movie premiere. 

"How were they?" she asked, meaning her breasts, because that's what she always meant, and because she rather bravely filmed the love scene about four months after she stopped breast feeding.

"Good, they were good," Leonard said, in his most reassuring tone, and Carol smiled.  The performances, no one was worried about; Jim had suspected Carol had a talent for light comedy and she'd proven him right.

When they got to the back of the theater, Joanna said, "I just don't know why Jim had to be made into a girl."

"Single fathers score very highly with the romantic comedy target demographic," Spock said.

"But that's why Jim was made into a girl instead of Dad," Joanna said, "and anyway Carol is better at pretending to be Jim than pretending to be Dad.  Geoff M'Benga is really good at pretending to be Dad, though."

"I noticed," Nyota said.

"What I want to know is, why did it have to be about a man and a woman?" Joanna asked.

Leonard winced.  "Because Mr. Pike probably wouldn't have given us enough money to make a movie about two men, Jo.  Because he doesn't think anyone would go see it."

"Maybe they don't see them because you don't make them," Joanna said.

"Well," Leonard said, "there is the pirate movie coming up."

"I've always liked lady pirates," Nyota said.

Leonard looked up at Jim, who was thinking.  "That could work," Jim said.  "Really well."

"We'll get a lower budget," Spock said.

Jim waved a hand.  "We've done it before," he said.  "We can do it again."

* * *

  
"That went well," Leonard said, climbing into the limo with Kirk.

"Yeah," Jim replied. He tapped the side of Leonard's thigh. "You know what I used to do in the car between the movie and the party?"

"I've learned it's better not to guess," Leonard replied.

Jim raised his eyebrows.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me."

"Started with Carol."

"Of course. And ended with?"

"Lenore."

Leonard turned to face Jim fully. "Not Miri?"

"No, actually, though she _totally_ jumped me. But I didn't feel like it."

Leonard grinned. "Because you'd already met _me_!"

"No, because I didn't want to reward Miri for her possessive behavior."

"Come on, you were all over me at that premiere."

"I wasn't all over you!"

"Yes you were with your sad eyes and aren't-you-coming-to-the-party."

"Whatever, the point wasn't to rehash our sex lives."

"No, I'm pretty clear that you want to have sex right now in the back of this car. And I'm telling you that I'm not cleaning up the mess—"

"Not much mess."

"—or going into the party with semen on my breath."

"Not that either."

"What else is there?"

"There's straight-up fucking, Bones."

"And how is that not messy?"

Jim smiled and pulled a small plastic bag out from under one of the seats. Inside was a towel and two suit hangers.

"Well I can guess what those are for," Leonard said suspiciously, though he was disrobing.

Jim pulled two condoms out of his pocket and set them on the dash behind them. "One of those is for you of course."

"Thanks, but I ain't fucking you dry, Jim."

"You won't," Jim said, folding his trousers over the hanger.

"So you're self-lubricating now?"

"More like pre-lubricated."

Leonard, who'd gotten his jacket off, stopped with his trousers halfway down his legs. "Are you serious?"

Jim nodded. "Slipped into the bathroom while you were putting Joanna into a car to go home. I knew she'd put up a fight, so I had time."

"Jim, the next time you try to get me to fuck you in the back of a limo? _Start there_."

* * *

  
Jim liked to think they were merely a little disheveled when they arrived at the party. He spotted Nyota and Spock, who had also just arrived, which wasn't surprising as Spock often liked to stay behind a little at a screening.

Jim noticed something odd, and motioned Nyota to come closer. "What is it?" she asked.

"Your, um, well, just turn around," he said, and when she did he undid the hair clip near the crown of her head and flipped it so the correct side was facing out. "Do stuff like that, Nyota, and everyone's going to think you were fucking in the car."

Nyota coughed.

"Oh my god," Jim said, and walked around in front of her. "Oh my god, seriously?"

She held up her hands. "Jim—"

"Seriously?" He started to laugh, which brought Leonard back over to his side, with Spock not far behind.

"What is it now?" Leonard asked.

"Spock, you have the best girlfriend _ever_ ," Jim said.

"I am well aware of that, Jim," Spock replied, and Nyota smiled.

"You," Leonard said, pointing at Jim, "are a nut."

"I am well aware of that as well," Spock said, and led Nyota into the party.

* * *

  
"Have we seen everyone?" Leonard asked.

"I think so," Jim said, finishing his drink and setting the glass down. "And Pike's already left, so."

"So there's nothing keeping us here?"

"Not a damn thing," Jim replied.

"Good, let's go."

"You know what we could do," Jim said.

"What?"

"On the way home, we can stop by Milk, get some fudge sauce, some caramel, some ice cream …"

"We're going to get some _real_ ice cream and not that soy stuff, right?"

"I'd think you'd be glad that someone makes a frozen treat that my son and I can eat without having sad tummies, Bones."

"Sad tummies?" Leonard asked. "We _are_ raising a toddler."

"So ice cream sundae party?"

"Two great ideas in one day, Jim," Leonard said. "I'm going to have to hang on to you."

"Somehow, I don't think that will be a problem," Jim replied.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story is from the Okkervil River song, "Our Life Is Not a Movie or Maybe." The chapter titles and opening quotes are from "Michael Hague's Screenplay Mastery" or as McCoy put it, one of those hacky books about screenwriting. My percentages and story beats probably don't precisely align with those proscribed by Mr. Hague.
> 
> All of the titles of television shows or movies within the story are TOS episode titles with the exception of _Three to Tango_. All people in the film industry that appear are characters within the TOS universe, as are nearly all the people referenced. Company names are also TOS references (with the exception of Disney, of course). Jean-Luc Picard, Beverly Crusher, Geordi LaForge, Data, Worf, Tasha Yar, Miles O'Brien, Will Riker, and Deanna Troi are all from TNG. As a general rule, the names of characters referenced—the characters in _Three to Tango_ , _That Which Survives_ , and the various Bibi Besch movies—are references to actors who have appeared in _Star Trek_. (The exception is Gaila's B &C character Drusillia, a reference to a character within that TOS episode.)
> 
> All bands and songs named and referenced are real. In Part 7, Kirk quotes "Passenger Seat" and McCoy references "Brothers in a Hotel Bed" both by Death Cab for Cutie. Kirk dances to "Toxic" by Britney Spears. In Part 3, Kirk and McCoy quote "Big Spender" and refer to "Rich Man's Frug" both from the show _Sweet Charity_ , music and lyrics by Kander and Ebb.
> 
> Real World Parallels: Note that I started planning out this story in the late summer of 2009. And I swear, I didn't realize the extended reference I was making to _Alias_ with the Bibi Besch movies until some time last week.
> 
> Nero was always intended to be a James Cameron-esque director. _Kobyashi Maru_ is a _Titanic_ that failed. _Narada_ is more like an _Australia_ that succeeded, though that film was directed by Baz Lurhmann.
> 
> Kirk is an amalgam of McG and Quentin Tarantino. Jonathan Archer is a slightly older Steven Soderburgh and _The Naked Time_ a reference to _sex, lies and videotape_.
> 
> Scotty scouting locations and unknowingly finding McCoy's actual house was taken from the pre-pro events of _Enchanted April_ , where the scouts stumbled on the very Italian villa that the book's author was staying in when she wrote the novel. Also like _That Which Survives_ , _Enchanted April_ was a last-minute addition to the London Film Festival after another film dropped out, and went on to be the most talked about film at the festival that year.
> 
> McCoy's pie chart of repetitious press junket questions was taken from a tweet by Jason Reitman during his press for Up in the Air. The budget for _That Which Survives_ was based on the budgets for _Up in the Air_ and _The Hurt Locker_.
> 
> Now here's where things get weird. I had already planned out the end of the story where _That Which Survives_ wins the Oscar, and written the references to a super low budget for Kirk's film while Nero's was huge and making a lot of money. So imagine my amazement when the (admittedly classic) plot I'd laid out started happening, between _Avatar_ and _The Hurt Locker_. The two films started haunting this story, to the extent that when I asked Ali for technical assistance on the conversation Kirk, Sulu and Scotty would have about whether to use digital video for _That Which Survives_ , she gave me two scenarios, and later told me that the one I chose, which appears in the story, was what director Kathryn Bigelow had used for _The Hurt Locker_. And not only did _The Hurt Locker_ win best original screenplay, director, and picture, but Kathryn Bigelow is said to be romantically involved with screenwriter Mark Boal.


End file.
